An Interesting Hobby
by Helene Fyne
Summary: I have no reason not to kill the man who stole my life from me, all I lack is opportunity." Five hundred years in the future, Claire is waiting to destroy him. Continued in "Beyond Satisfaction".
1. May 2011

**_Hello, and greetings. All we will say before you begin is that this story is rated M for a reason. There are dark themes and situations that are definitely not for everyone, and if you feel uncomfortable at any time, you should go. Our vision of Sylar and Claire is not necessarily a pretty one, but its one that is right for them. _**

**_Truly- _**

**_Mel and Chuck._**

**VOLUME ONE**

May 2011

"I enjoy watching you try not to rise to my bait. Even more so when you know I'd love to hear you scream," he murmured as he forced me to cut myself again with my own knife. If I were a normal person, my arms would be ravaged by long cuts. But the days when I wished for normalcy were long gone. Now my only wish was for Sylar to die at my hands.

It seemed like it might never happen.

"Oh Claire," he whispered right in my ear as he directed my hand to set the knife on the floor and kick it away from me, "I really do think we're going to get along. I know you disagree. But I can be patient."

With a sure smile, he caressed my face and turned to sit back on the couch. I had no doubt he could wait forever until he got what he wanted, but I wasn't going to change my mind, and I sure as hell wasn't going to make anything easy for him.

"I'm going to kill you." I ground out the words through my clenched teeth, "You bastard."

"Tsk, tsk. Language, Claire. What would Daddy think? Or Mommy?" He smirked as he touched on my sore spot.

"Don't talk about my family to me. Don't you ever mention them again," I whispered fiercely. I tried to blink back my tears, but my eyelids were in his thrall. Instead, he allowed my eyes to overflow, watching me with the patient forbearance of an indulgent parent.

"Shh. You'll forgive me for that someday," he told me as he watched me cry, trapped in my own body. With a flick of his fingers I was forced to sit on the couch, uncomfortably close to him.

He put an arm around me, just as casual as can be. His other hand moved in front of my face, wiping the tears from my cheeks. I wanted so badly to reach out and break his arm.

"Hush now," his voice a warm hum, vibrating through me, "Sleep."

And I did.


	2. MAY 2518

MAY 2518

I've been hunting him for ages, and I mean that quite literally. Empires have risen and fallen while I've chased him, looking for the opportunity I need to finish him.

I remember my birth. I lived in what was then the United States of America. It was one of my favorite empires, and one of the longest lasting ones. My favorite thing about America was the ease with which you could find a person once you started looking. In this new nation, finding someone without the aid of an ability has become nearly impossible.

Of course, he has no problem finding me when he wants to. Every ten or so years he shows up on whichever doorstep I own at the time and solicits me. I always refuse, usually by stabbing some random part of his body with the ever-present blade I carry. I've gotten quite good with my knife in the more than 500 years since I took it from my father's corpse. I figure that eventually, I'll stab him in the spot and he'll be gone for good. At that point, I'll be free to stick a spike in the back of my head and take a very long nap.

Given the relative regularity of his visits in the last half-millennium, his recent absence has set me on edge. Of course I know it's probably just him screwing with me, but when you get used to seeing someone on a schedule and then they just don't show up, it's unsettling, no matter how irrational you know it is.

It's been seventeen years since the last time I saw Sylar, and as much as it thrills me to not have to look into those sociopathic eyes, I wish he would stop by just so that I can have another shot at killing him. If I'm being practical though, it'd be better if he had just gotten unlucky and fallen off a cliff, getting spiked by a sharp rock right in his proverbial Achilles' heel.

"Such uncharitable thoughts, Claire. Makes me wonder just who the bad guy in this situation is." I freeze, the breeze in the dark alley brushing my long blonde hair into my face.

"Sylar, so nice to see you again. I was getting worried. You're late for our decadal sparring match." He chuckles and the sound wraps around me, reverberating in the narrow space and bouncing off of the high building walls. The K-bar is in my hand before I even realize it and I'm spinning on the spot, springing forward and sinking the blade five-point-two inches into yielding flesh.

"Forgive me," he says, grunting through the pain he's not past feeling. I feel one strong arm come around my waist, hitching me up and pulling me bodily against him. My ribs are close to cracking as he presses me into the hilt of the blade, pushing it even deeper into himself to show me he's still alive. I begin to feel his blood seeping onto my shirt and shiver at the thought. "I had some other things to take care of."

"Oh really?" I groan as he releases me, feeling my ribs pop back into place with a sickening thud against my skin. "Too busy inspiring fear and loathing in the lives of mere mortals to keep our standing appointment?"

He shrugs, yanking my blade from his abdomen and hissing as he holds it up to the light coming from the gas lamp to his right. "You know me, Claire," he muses, "I'm a very busy man. You maintain this blade very well."

He throws it lightning-quick, lodging it in my outstretched hand. The steel blade glistens with our mingled blood as it protrudes from the back of my hand.

It stings more as I withdraw it than it did going in.

He grins at my short intake of breath. "Someday you're going to make that sound for me in a completely different situation, Claire." He says the words softly, relishing the sound of his own voice on his lips.

"Right," I say. I don't wait for the flesh of my hand to re-knit itself before I take off again, whirling around and bringing the blade down into the hollow above his collarbone. He sinks to his knees, gurgling slightly as he looks up at me, eyes glazed with pain before his lips curve into one completely soul-killing smile.

As I look down at him, kneeling on the pavement, an unexpected feeling shoots through me. I _like_ having him on his knees. I want him to kneel before me; that's where he belongs.

"You can have that, if it's what you want, Claire," he tempts me as he yanks my knife from his body. I am reeling from this sudden desire for control, and he takes advantage of it, moving his hand and pinning me against the far wall, my feet dangling a good foot above the ground.

I am furious with myself. I let myself get distracted, and now I'm unable to move or get down. _Damn it._

"You know I can give you everything, Claire," he continues, pressing his advantage, "and you know we're good together."

"I want you to die, Sylar. That's all I've wanted for a long time," I spit at him, so mad I can hardly see. He caught me off-guard to begin with, and then I had to go and make an amateur screw-up.

He tilts his head to one side, studying my face. His eyes grow serious as he replies, "No, I don't think that's right. You're lying to yourself if you think that's what you really want. Or at least, the _only_ thing you want."

He allows my body to slide down the wall until I am standing on solid ground again. He steps forward until I can once again feel the heat of his body. I am still frozen as he burns me with his dark eyes.

"Everyone breaks once, Claire."

And I am released after he has disappeared, leaving me with only anger and confusion.


	3. May 2017

May 2017

I woke up in bed. His bed. I don't know why the thought shocked me each morning when the sun filtered through the drapes over the window; I'd been sharing his bed for the last six years. And yet, each morning, I woke in a panic.

"Good morning Claire." His arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me back against him. I could feel the hard line of his naked body against my skin, warm to the touch. "Aren't you going to wish me a happy birthday?" His voice was soft and somewhat strained as he spoke against the nape of my neck. I shivered involuntarily. It was one of those actions, the tiny reflexes that I had control over.

"Happy birthday, Gabriel." My voice sounded false even to my own ears, but it was an unavoidable consequence of his control. Even my words weren't my own anymore.

"Thank you, Claire." He fell silent behind me as he breathed in the scent of my long hair. His hands began to roam across the expanse of my taut body. His fingertips were electric on my skin, literally. Tiny shocks of electricity poured from his hands as they traced up and down my stomach to my breasts and back down. He liked the way the tiny jolts made my spine stiffen and my pulse race. It set him on edge. He had told me once that it was almost as if I were enjoying it as much as he was. The thought excited him.

"You know, having you here is calming," he murmured into my ear. "You're a constant in all this. It's nice knowing that when I'm done at work you'll be waiting here for me. Being president is a very stressful job… especially when you're changing the way the entire world is run…" He paused to trace his tongue along the shell of my ear. Again, I shivered, and this time not entirely out of disgust. After six years Sylar had become an expert in his control over my body. "And it's nice to have you here to unwind with." His teeth bit down on my earlobe and I felt them sink through flesh. He let my mouth loose and I gasped aloud.

"Bastard," I said, as I felt the blood trickle down my neck and my ear healing itself quickly. He chuckled darkly as his tongue lapped up the blood and his arms grew strong as iron around me. I felt the sudden rush of control as he released me from the strings he usually controlled and I became a person instead of a puppet.

I tried kicking out, tried to struggle, but I was no match for his inherent strength as he rolled on top of me, sinking deep into me with one smooth move and taking my mouth with his.

It looked like he wanted a fight that morning. I was completely willing to give it to him.

I bit down on his tongue as I felt it snake into my mouth. He groaned and I gagged as his blood filled my mouth. He pulled his face from mine to allow it time to heal and I spat the blood back at him. It splattered across his cheek and down his neck, coating his skin and morning stubble with bright red.

"That wasn't very nice!" he hissed, pounding into me once to make his point. "You know, Claire, every so often I give you the chance to show me how much you want this, how willing you are to make things between us work." I felt the vise of his control wrap around me once more and the strings he manipulated so skillfully subdue me. I became pliant in his arms, arching up and letting him evoke the sensations he wanted from my skin. "And every time, you do something incredibly stupid."

He fell silent as he began to feast on my body.

He stroked and caressed and controlled me, and at the end, as the fireworks began to dance behind my eyes, I wasn't entirely sure he was still in control. Every movement of my body, whether manipulated or voluntary, got me closer to the sweet release I desired and hated.

After we were done and he had wrung moans of delight from my lips, he shifted from over me, lying on his side and propping himself on one elbow as I came down from the high. My breasts were heaving as I tried to get control of my breathing and looked over at him. It was at moments like this that I lost the will to fight him, when he was staring down at me and I was marinating in the delicious feeling he'd just inspired in my body.

"If only you could be this compliant all the time," he murmured. His voice inspired me to action and I found my desire for revenge. I rolled quickly, reaching for the knife he kept on his bedside table—but he was far quicker than I. I was back under his control the second I had straddled him, and he turned the position to his advantage, drawing me down as his lips ascended to caress my jaw.

"Oh Claire… Why can't you just want me?" he whispered.

My hot tears splashed upon his bare chest as he held me close for the rest of the morning.

**_Hello Folks! Hope you've enjoyed our little project thus far. So, Helene Fyne is actually two people, and this story is a collaboration we conceived after watching an Invisible Thread. This pairing just seems right. Please feel free to leave us comments, questions, and suggestions. The story is actually written through Volume Three, and currently weighs in at a hefty 100,000 words. We're still going strong though, and Volume Four will be completed shortly. _**

**_We do love comments! Please, PLEASE, let us know your thoughts. _**

**_Truly, _**

**_Mel and Chuck_**


	4. May 2518 2

MAY 2518

Life has taken on a pattern in the last few centuries. But then, that's what civilizations are made of, isn't it? Every civilization I've seen has followed a pattern. There is the struggle for independence: independence of thought, of culture, of religion, or economy. Following this struggle, there is a sort of glory period in which the nation begins to assert itself as culturally different from its predecessor. This can come in many ways. Some have changed their language; others have done away with old religions. One even burned everything associated with the written word (except, of course, for my own private collections). This assertion naturally leads to a period in which the new culture flourishes, becoming a power in its own right and not by virtue of its parent nation. It's amazing how many civilizations have come and gone in the last half-millennium, how many new schools of thought and old technologies have been born and reborn since the United States of America fell. Today's society has lost its past. The USA is a legend to the children of this age. No history remains to document its existence for this future, only rusted buildings and archaic roads mapping out a civilization that once existed. All the modern inhabitants can do today is guess at what existed before them, just like my generation did with the Romans.

My life has taken on this pattern.

I trace my existence in decades, and each one follows the same blueprint I gave before. My struggle for independence comes when Sylar does, encroaching on my proverbial territory and making me itch to remake myself. Then comes the glory, when he leaves and I'm left to plot and devise new ways to achieve my goals… only I never quite reach the flourishing aspect of the whole thing. I'm stuck in limbo, trying to reassert myself and create a raison d'être. I'm failing miserably.

Still, it is this pattern that reminds me I haven't seen the last of my one enemy, the man who has followed me for ages. The one I lived with for ten years in captivity; the only man who knows the secrets of my body, how to make me scream in pain and how to make me moan in pleasure. The only constant I've known in the 500 years I've been alive.

Computers around the world crashed, and Sylar was there. Nuclear weapons were destroyed, and Sylar was there. The English language was dropped from use and eventually lost completely, and Sylar was there. The supervolcano beneath Yellowstone National Park erupted, leaving just 1/10000th of the world's population alive, and Sylar was there. The bastard is my own personal night-light, reassuring me every ten years that I'm still alive, and still, I hate him.

He used to tell me that I would love him. He told me that a few hundred years would cool my temper and I'd learn to forgive him and miss the things he could do to my body. I'm still waiting for that to happen, half hoping he's right. Sometimes the way I'm living my life makes me shiver. I've been hunting him since he cut me loose, waiting for him to find me so I can have my next shot. It's like I rely on him to affirm myself.

The realization is startling and not at all welcome.

The bastard killed my family and half of the population in the United States when he united people with powers against the helpless in society, starting his own personal revolution. I suppose that's why mostly everyone on earth today has an ability. Sylar and the many evolutions of society and nature have made the regular human an oddity, breeding them out of existence necessarily. Some days I catch myself wondering if that's a good thing, then I look at the great evil my kind are capable of and I long for the days when the government came into our homes and workplaces and locked us up in facilities where we'd spend the rest of our lives sedated and useless.

I make my way down the remains of Fifth Avenue in New York City. I don't know what brings me here. I live in a settlement on the outskirts of Manhattan. It's made up of abandoned buildings that haven't crumpled, and new wood structures taking the places of forgotten buildings. Civilization as I knew it hasn't completely fallen, but there's something very futuristic-horror about the world I live in today. There are no flying cars or computers, but we have not regressed to the Middle Ages. There is still plumbing, houses, and roads (though the lack of fossil fuels or the capacity to engineer alternative energy sources since humanity began to dwindle has made cars next to obsolete). Mostly, it's abilities that make life these days livable. People trade the use of their abilities like they used to barter livestock and grain. A woman the other day offered to let me experience a tour of the past 100 years in exchange for a meal. I laughed and walked away. Not that I wouldn't have liked to feed her, but I hadn't found my own meal yet, and the thought of reliving the past century made me sick to my stomach.

I reach the place where our high-rise used to stand, and my stomach turns. I'm not quite sure whether it's in fear, anticipation, or disgust.

I half miss the life I used to live there. It was so easy. I smiled and waved as the former first lady of the United States, I learned to cook, I made love with a man I hated… but it was calm and I was always fed. And I was a prisoner in my own body, capable of only the acts he deemed necessary and appropriate.

I stare at the ruins of that former life for a while before I sigh and begin to turn. It's then that I realize he's there, as the old familiar strings begin to tug at me and I am caught in his web.

"You know, Claire, if you miss it, I can take us back." He lets me finish the turn, keeping my hands at my sides as he waves another hand and my knife flies into his waiting palm, hilt first. "I'll rebuild the high-rise and we can live like we used to. I'll even control you again if that will make you feel less guilty." I grit my teeth and try not to react to the feeling of utter helplessness he so easily evokes in me.

"You know I don't want that, Sylar." His own dark jaw sets into a scowl as he stalks forward, his thick hair windswept and one strong hand outstretched. He backhands me without a word and I feel one of my back molars knock loose in my mouth momentarily before reattaching itself. I spit out the blood, watching as it lands in the dirt and sends up a tiny cloud of dust.

He looks down at me, his gaze tender as he reaches out his hand again, this time to caress my smooth cheek. I don't even flinch. His touch is as familiar as my own.

"How many times do I have to ask you to call me Gabriel?" he says softly, as if speaking to a child.

"You know it irritates me when you forget."

I smile sarcastically at him in response and he chuckles.

"Still so defiant. I thought you'd cool down sooner, but I'm a patient man, Claire. You know this about me." And I do. I remember quite well his capacity for patience. He once waited almost an entire week to let me come, keeping me in a heightened state of arousal and bringing me down right before I reached the edge, until I was literally begging him for it. He had promised me I'd plead for him to be inside of me, of my own volition. He'd been right.

"So what brings you to this side of town again?" he asks casually, sitting down on a nearby bench and motioning for me to do the same. I, of course, comply. It's not something I can help when he's charting the course my body must take.

"I don't know," I answer honestly. "Maybe I thought it'd make it easier for you to find me. We've still got a few more appointments before you leave for the next decade."

He laughs again. "I don't need help finding you. I know exactly where you are, all the time, and you're lying." I receive a gentle jolt of electricity around my midriff, making my back arch and my teeth grit as he puts an arm comfortably around my shoulder.

"Now why are you back here?"

"I was thinking about you," I say, grudgingly. There's no use lying to him or myself. I don't fancy myself much of a masochist. Sadism's really more my style these days, especially where it concerns him. "And of the old life. My feet brought me here."

There's silence for a while as he seems to contemplate what I've said, and then he speaks.

"Do you remember Freud?" he asks, pensive. A chill makes its way down my spine. He used to talk like that to me all the time. We had surprisingly deep conversation for a couple whose only reason for being together was his use of force.

"Of course I remember Freud. The nut job with the repression fetish." I say, my body relaxing itself to his control out of habit. Constantly fighting was tiresome and impractical.

"Yes. Repression. He said that it's the things we say and do when we aren't paying attention that show our true feelings. He'd say you miss me, Claire." I let his words sink in for a while, seriously considering them as he waits for my response.

"I did miss you," I say. "But next time I'm sure I'll find the spot."

"There you go lying to me again. When will you learn?" The electric volts rip through my body, spiraling along my skin and ripping my clothes to shreds. I curse him for ruining them even as my screams echo across the deserted city.

By the time I stop convulsing, he's gone. My knife sits beside me on the bench along with a silver locket on a long chain. I pick up my knife and let the locket sit there; afraid of what I'll find when I open it.

But I can't help myself.

As I sit there, staring at the two photos inside of it, I begin to shake.

Damn him. Damn him to hell.

**_Hola! More reviews means more chapters posted, Thank you for reading!_**

**_Love, Mel and Chuck._**


	5. May 2021

May 2021

I sat curled up on the couch in the living room of our home. I'd been devastated since my miscarriage a week before.

I remembered the events of that day only in snatches of memory. I had just finished clearing away our breakfast dishes when I felt a sickening tug in my lower abdomen. An ambulance, paramedics, Sylar. So much blood. A solemn-faced doctor, telling me that my unborn baby was dead. Undue stress, he'd said, but unavoidable.

Sylar came into the room a few minutes after the doctor left. Rather than sit next to the bed, he stood over me as I refused to look at him.

"Claire," he said quietly, "please look at me." Odd, since he could have directed me to look at him with less effort than speaking the words.

"I've been told you can come home tomorrow," he tried. I finally looked up at him, my face tear-streaked and empty. He looked at me for a moment, tracing my features with his eyes.

"I know what you're thinking," he told me, his voice raw with emotion, "but this isn't my fault. The doctor said it was an accident." At his words, I sat up in bed a little straighter.

"How is this _not_ your fault?" I asked bitterly. "How can you delude yourself into believing you're in any way blameless? I wouldn't be here if you hadn't killed my family and kept me in captivity for the last ten years. I wouldn't be here if _you_ had allowed either of us to use some form of birth control. And the only reason the doctor called this an accident is because he doesn't know the kind of 'undue stress' I've been under for the last decade! Fighting you for control of my own body isn't exactly the sort of thing the doctor would know about, but I've been doing it for ten years, and I'd bet you it's got something to do with all this." My voice had become hard and angry; I hardly recognized it.

He didn't react. In fact, he was silent for a long time. I turned over on my side and faced the wall, letting my tears fall as quietly as they could.

"I am more sorry about this than you will ever know."

He left, and I didn't see him again until he came to take me home. He stayed out of my way, allowing me to sleep and cry and act of my own desires. Too bad my desires had all but evaporated. I can't begin to tell you how badly I wanted my child back.

A week after the miscarriage, I sat alone in our home, numbly awaiting my husband's return from grocery shopping. I couldn't care if we never ate again. Living hurt too much.

That last sentiment pierced through my dim consciousness. Living hurt, but maybe I didn't have to anymore. Before I could think too hard about this, I searched the kitchen for the biggest and sharpest knife in the drawer and drove it into the back of my head. With any luck, I hoped, the size of the knife would make up for the awkward angle of my reach, and I'd be done. I was right.

Until Sylar came home, that is. I awoke what seemed only minutes later to him crouching over me, the bloody knife lying on the carpet, and a searing pain in my head, accompanied by the itch of it healing. He was seething.

"You stupid girl," he growled, "What the hell were you thinking?" His grip on me was crushing.

"I should think my intentions were fairly obvious," I said coolly. I was just as angry as he was, but I was the cold to his burning rage.

He shook me hard. "You do not get to decide when you leave me. You are mine, whether you acknowledge that or not." He grabbed a fistful of my hair and assaulted my mouth with his, trying to prove that he really did own me. I exploded and started attacking him like an animal. I wanted to hurt him any way I could. It was only moments before I felt his control clamp down like a vice on my body.

"No, no, dearest." His voice was mocking, but there was an undercurrent of pain.

"I hate you," I hissed at him, tears starting in my eyes again. He watched my struggle for control as he composed his own features.

"I'll always be there, Claire. You will never be able to escape from me. And one day maybe you'll realize that you don't want to," he said seriously, his usual charm all but gone. And with that, he turned and left the house.

When he returned I was gone.

**Hello, beautiful readers. So, even though hundreds of you have visited this humble story, only a few have reviewed? We'll love you anyway, but fanfiction writers recieve their payment through comments. We long to hear what you have to say! Enjoy this Piece.**

**Mel and Chuck**


	6. June 2518

**_As we said before, this is a dark story and is rated M for a reason. You have been warned. Don't forget to review. _**

**_Mel and Chuck_**

JUNE 2518

Once upon a time, I was a cheerleader, rooting for the school team and living my happy little life with my family. Then, Sylar appeared and changed all of that; he'll pay for that, but in the meantime, I've had to learn to cope. One year after I was on my own, I turned to selling my body. My remarkable ability to withstand punishment and mutilation made me a favorite among a certain crowd of men and women. Then Sylar found out.

I was surprised it took him so long really. I had expected him to know the moment I began, but it had taken him nearly a month. When he had, it had satisfied a part of me I barely knew existed, the part that wanted him fiercely possessive and irate; the part of me that wanted to be desired and cared about above all else, even if it was by a ruthless murderer who had held me captive for years.

I had regretted it afterwards. I did not hate the people who had used me; they had given me fair compensation for my services. Still, I couldn't bring myself to really feel sad as one by one their mutilated corpses turned up on my doorstep. It seemed somehow fitting that they should go in the same way I couldn't. Once he was finished with them, he came for me, reminding me of exactly who my body belonged to and re-staking his claim.

If I'm not mistaken, he told me in the throes of passion that if I ever took another lover he'd put a spike into the back of my head himself. By that time, I'd learned that I wanted to live… at least until he was dead. Needless to say I've been celibate since then.

I dress in front of the bathroom mirror as I think, noting the lack of scars on my skin. A part of me mourns my inability to keep any lasting marks on myself. There are so many things I'd like to remember. In that sense, I have no history, much like the nation I'm living in.

Once I am clothed, I go for the jewelry. Every morning I re- pierce my ears, liking the look of the diamond studs and the pinch that comes with them. And then, I lift the locket from the edge of the sink and drape it around my neck. The chain is long and the pendent rests beneath my shirt and between my breasts, a brand against my flesh, reminding me of everything I never had and everything I lost. I wonder briefly why I let him touch me this way, loving the indirect caress of his gift on my skin. It's like I'm encouraging his sway over my thought, loving the memories such a small piece of silver and its contents bring me. Maybe it's the specific pictures inside, he and I together on two occasions, my stomach swollen with his child and a completely voluntary smile on my lips.

I don't know why I'm sinking into this trap he's set for me. Letting him drag me down into longing for everything I hated. It's confusing, this desire for the complacency he gave me, especially as I remember vividly the way my little brother's blood looked splattered across his white tee-shirt. Lyle. It's strange. I can't even remember the color of his eyes anymore.

I shake off the strange feeling that I've been chasing my tail for the last five centuries and turn away from the mirror.

He's there.

Of course he's there.

He lets me throw myself at him, standing still as stone as I let my knife rise and fall down into yielding flesh. By the time I've tired myself, he's on the white tile of the bathroom floor and everything around me is covered in a dark tint from his blood.

"Why can't you just leave me alone?" I scream, falling back and letting my knife clatter to the ground. I can barely breathe. I'm sobbing and breathing through tears I don't remember shedding.

It takes him a while to answer me. I think his lungs have to fix themselves and seal over the puncture wounds I've put in them.

"You don't want me to leave you. If you did, you wouldn't be wearing my gift." He's right, but I'm not ready to give in.

"Fuck you," I hiss through gritted teeth.

He's off the tile and above me in a heartbeat, crushing my chest to his, hot breath on my face.

"You don't know how badly I want that," he says, the familiar electricity tingling across my skin as his hands rove. "But until you admit it's what _you_ want, that's not going to happen, Claire," he says, voice gone low and calm

"I don't—"

"Shut up!" he cries, one hand covering my mouth as his other arm wraps around my waist and lifts me up. My feet are dangling above the floor as he holds me tightly to him, staring into my eyes, his gaze burning. "Don't even bother to speak to me if you're going to spew lies. I know exactly what you're thinking, Claire _Gray_," he hisses, "and I can make perfect sense of the twisted little thoughts you're trying to repress. You need to snap out of it, princess, and realize that you're not the only one that this," his hand snakes up my shirt, tracing up the taut flesh there until he comes to the locket and grabs it hard in his hand, yanking forward unrelentingly so that my chin rests against his shoulder and his lips rest against my ear, "affected."

"You have no idea what the hell you're talking about." I shudder as he inhales the scent of me, letting his lips rest against my neck as he speaks again, sending shivers down my spine. He still knows the spots I love.

"I know. I know exactly what I'm doing and what you're feeling. And the truth, Claire, is that you want to be with me more than you want to kill me. I am your other half. I give your life purpose, no matter what I've done in the past. And you're just too damned stubborn to acknowledge it." He lets his hand trail back down my stomach and to the waistband of my jeans. "Well, pretty soon I'm going to be done waiting for you to realize the truth," he breathes as he undoes the button there and lets the zipper slide down with his fingers. I can't bring myself to fight against him as he begins to incite the flames within me. "And then I'm going to take back what belongs to me."

As his fingers slip inside of me I cry out. He crushes his lips to mine and I bite down, enjoying the ruthless, unrelenting pleasure he gives me and thinking the whole while that I'm allowed this small measure of happiness.

"Close enough," he whispers. Too late I remember that he hears all of my thoughts, even the guilty ones in which I acquiesce to his desire.

_Oh hell_, I think, _I'll go back to hunting him tomorrow._

He chuckles as he brings me to the edge and back down again, reminding me once again of his superb patience and complete mastery over my body, with or without his puppeteer's abilities.

All I can do is moan into his mouth and let him play me like a fiddle. I enjoy every guilty second.


	7. June 2520

**_As we said before, this is a dark story and is rated M for a reason. You have been warned. Don't forget to review. _**

**_Mel and Chuck_**

JUNE 2520

He disappeared after taking me in the bathroom, and I've been wanting him back ever since. I miss the feel of my blade sinking between his ribs, the feel of him plunging into my body. I don't know what I miss anymore. All I know is that I want him here so I can hurry up and decide. I've been walking around in a haze for the past two years, on a perpetual high and a perpetual low. The problem I have now is with the pattern.

He's still following it even as I curse its existence. I want him to come to me now; I'm tired of waiting for him. My knife is sharp and I'm continually tense, waiting for the sound of his voice so I can pounce and try for the next spot. I've been thinking about sticking him in the soft flesh behind his kneecap lately.

The only problem now is getting him here.

The epiphany comes to me in a bar. I'm watching a couple, both seriously drunk, as they grind on the dance floor. His hands are in her pants and she's writhing as they move in tandem. It makes me think of him. So much does nowadays. I can barely move without the silver locket brushing my skin and my thoughts surrounding him and what could have become of my life.

I had named him by the time my body rejected the baby. I hadn't even been fighting against Sylar's control anymore. I had settled into a happy routine, accepting my life for what it was and even enjoying it. It wasn't until I'd lost him that everything came crashing back in on me and I remembered my hate, violent and acidic as it began to eat at me again. To think, I had told myself I was okay being a puppet, that I was content letting him love me and carrying his baby while he destroyed what was left of our world.

But that's the past, and as my green eyes scan the dance floor, I'm looking for the key to my future, whatever that might be.

I find him lingering against the far wall, a group of worn-looking women crowding around him. He's almost as tall as Gabriel, but there the similarities end. This man is not elegant or discreet. He's ostentatious from the bright cut of his clothes and obscene muscles to the pale blonde of his gelled-back hair. I don't waste any time.

I cross the floor and stand in front of him, hands on my hips and head tilted to the side speculatively. He sees me instantly. I'm the hottest, youngest woman in the bar.

"Hey there sugar," he says, shaking off the harem around him and stepping close so that his frame dwarfs me. "You looking for a good time?" I pause for a moment, contemplating my answer. It's a decision I should take my time making. He's warned me what would happen if I chose to do something like this again… and I want the consequence. His anger will be delicious, and no matter what he says, I can't quite see him ending me.

Besides, don't I have a right to know what it's like? The only other time I had let myself be with someone, it had been specifically for the pain they could inspire in me. And still, none of them had been a match for Sylar. This time, I was looking for the pleasure. Could someone else move me to the quaking release he was so good at arousing in me? As I smile and nod, taking the big blonde's hand, I think it's time to find out.

We end up at my place. There's no use trying to hide from him, especially when what I really want is for him to find me. I take him to my bed, setting the tone. I don't want violence right now. The aim here is pleasure, and maybe a bit of tenderness. I begin slowly, caressing and kissing and stroking him. His hands are on me as he strips my clothes off and then his own. I feel the man everywhere; taste him on my tongue as he groans.

But he's drunk, and he's ready to move on. He doesn't understand the ecstasy of sensation I crave for fulfillment, or the earth-shatteringly exquisite patience I need to reach my peak. He's in me before I'm even wet and I hiss at the rough handling. The pain is dull and meager against the backdrop of things I've felt at Sylar's hands.

I sigh beneath the oaf who's inside of me, and I begin to distract myself. He's careless and drunk with no appreciation for sensation. All he wants is a quick release to get him off and then a long rest to sleep off the alcohol. It's almost laughable how little I'm enjoying myself.

I find myself longing for something more, imagining it's Gabriel above me and not a stranger. In my mind he strokes and teases, shoots pins and needles across my flesh and bites me roughly to leave marks that fade away in seconds. He's manipulating me masterfully and stoking the fire of pure being inside of me until I want to burst into a thousand little pieces of lust. And as I explode he's there, against the far wall, arms outstretched and head hanging limp against his chest, an obscene imitation of Christ with a spike sticking out of one perfectly dark eye.

I stir from my waking nightmare screaming as the blonde man is ripped from my body and thrown like a rag doll. He shrieks and crashes through the thin wall like a bowling ball knocking over pins. I hear the cries of my neighbors as the man lands on their dining room table and then the commotion that follows as they scramble from the apartment. They know trouble when they see it, and they're unwilling to stick around for the upcoming show.

"Claaaaaaire." I hear his voice as I come out of the haze. His hands are around my throat and he's straddling me. His dark eyes are on a level with mine and he's shows his teeth, wolf-like. A part of me rejoices at the proximity even as I shiver in terrified anticipation.

"You've been a very irresponsible girl," he chides softly, the side of one hand caressing my cheek before his other palm comes crashing down in a resounding slap. I feel it ringing in my ears. I relish it before I realize how crazy that is. His punishment isn't something I should desire. "What would Noah think of his precious daughter whoring herself out like a common tramp?"

My father's name on his lips pushes me to the edge and I struggle beneath him, my naked body writhing as I punch and scratch with my nails, leaving shallow grooves in his face that heal within moments. "Don't you dare bring my family into this," I hiss as he captures my hands, pinning them to the pillow above me. His eyes trail down my body, assessing coolly as he scowls.

"You look like a slut," he hisses back, letting me go and keeping me pinned with his thoughts. I glance down at my body and have to agree with him. I'm gasping and my naked breasts are heaving, a thin sheen of sweat coats my body and my skin is flushed.

"You!" he says, flicking his fingers casually at the hole in the wall as he leaves me. I feel oddly empty without him near. The thought makes me want my knife.

The man I was with comes hurtling through the wall, stopping mid-air and dangling by whichever invisible thread Sylar is manipulating.

"It's not nice to fuck another man's wife while he's away," he says, raising his other hand and letting it trace a line of parting flesh and blood down the man's naked chest. By the time he's done my ears are resounding with shrieks of pain and the room is filled with the unpleasant odor associated with death and exposed entrails. My stomach turns at the smell and I feel myself wanting to retch, not a very good idea while Sylar is still willing me on my back. I'd end up choking.

The silence tells me he's finished, as does the weight I feel beside me on the bed. I let my eyes open and turn my face to look at him. He's lying to my right, his elbow propping his head up at an almost quizzical angle. There are smears of bright blood all along his hands and arms and in his hair where his fingers rest.

"I don't know why you have to make things so difficult, Claire," he says, using his free hand to trace around my face and mouth. I feel the stickiness of blood coat my lips and I shiver. "If you wanted my attention you could have gotten it without doing something so stupid. Now I'll have to punish you." He looks sad at the prospect, like a disappointed father grounding his child for sneaking out. "I don't take pleasure in hurting you, Claire," he assures me as my breathing quickens. "Well, that's a lie, but I'd rather you enjoy it with me." He chuckles dryly as my pupils dilate and I'm left quivering before him, more aroused at the prospect of receiving pain from him than I ever was at the prospect of pleasure from the dead man on the floor.

As the first swipe of the knife parts the soft flesh of my breast I scream and wonder what's wrong with me.

**_Hello! Mel will be travelling for the rest of this week, so through the 27th. If posts don't come quickly, she apologizes. Just remember that this volume is complete, and will be posted in its entirety... eventually. :)_**


	8. JUNE 2520 2

**_As we said before, this is a dark story and is rated M for a reason. You have been warned. Don't forget to review. _**

**_Mel and Chuck_**

_Later that night…_

I lie on the blood-soaked sheets, completely relaxed but still under his control. He was right. It does make me feel less guilty. He's next to me, unconcerned by the fact that my blood has stained his clothes. When you're practically omnipotent, you don't have to worry about not having anything to wear.

_I'm getting sick of looking at the ceiling_, I think. Like magic, I am able to turn onto my side and look at him.

"Your wish is my command," he comments lightly, "as always."

I snort at that, but let it go. He lets his fingers trail lightly along the curve of my hip, electricity not included. I rest my head on my arm and watch him watching me.

"Do you remember when we bought the place in Manhattan, and the Bolivian guy thought you were my uncle? And how his eyes bugged out when you kissed me?" I ask him.

He smiles. "Yes. And he asked me if it was customary for American women to marry so young." His hand moves from my hip to my shoulder to my neck, tracing a path from the hollow of my throat down between my breasts, circling my belly button, and back up. His fingers stop to play with the locket resting on my chest. We are quiet for some time.

"Do you ever think about lost opportunities?" He breaks the silence and opens the locket, looking at the pictures inside. His eyes move back to my face, his expression giving nothing away. He's truly curious if I think about it. Or rather he would be, if he couldn't hear my thoughts as easily as my voice. So maybe he just wants to hear me say it.

"All the time," I answer honestly, "Every single day."

"Me too. It's been a long time to think about it," he says.

"Do…do you ever regret…" I break off. I don't think I want to know.

"Finish it," he tells me, a core of steel in his voice.

"Do you ever regret anything?" I ask lamely, unwilling to be any more specific. What kind of answer is he supposed to give? He seriously considers my question, toying with my hair as he does.

"If I'm being honest with you, which I always try to be," he raised an eyebrow, "not most things. I don't generally regret my own actions, but there are some things that I wish had turned out differently."

I look at him, searching for a sign of duplicity, but I can't find one.

"What about you, do you regret any of your actions?" He smiles wryly.

"Nope," I lie, "not a one." He lets the falsehood go uncontested, willing to let me hide.

I am suddenly uncomfortable under his gaze and his fingers. "Let me up."

He cocks an eyebrow and releases me with a small motion. I roll over and grimace as I peel the drying sheets from my skin. I stand up and walk across the room, conscious of his eyes on me.

"I'm going to take a shower," I inform him as I step around the remainder of the guy from the bar. "Would you mind doing something with…um—"

"I'll clean it up, yes," he interrupts with a level look at me. "Have a nice shower."

I take my time scrubbing my blood off my skin and out of my hair. When I re-emerge wrapped in my bathrobe, he is nowhere to be seen.


	9. AUGUST 2520

**_As we said before, this is a dark story and is rated M for a reason. You have been warned. Don't forget to review. _**

**_Mel and Chuck_**

AUGUST 2520

It's been a rough couple of months. It feels like every day is spent trying to wade through my own muddied thoughts. I might even doubt my own convictions, and I detest myself for it. For every reason I have to hate him, my subconscious seems to have a counterargument.

Sylar killed my family. _But they would be dead by now anyway. It's been 500 years._

He effectively enslaved me for a decade. _What's_ _ten years when you can't die?_

He takes pleasure in inflicting physical pain on me. _Are you sure you don't like it yourself?_

He killed our baby as surely as if he had slaughtered him with his own hands. _You don't know that._

_You don't know anything anymore. You're talking to yourself._

My God. I'm so lost. But I don't have anything better to do than keep living as best I can.

I know Sylar's near; I can feel his presence all around me, all the time. Unfortunately, I can only keep searching for him uselessly until he decides to reveal himself to me. I just pray that it won't take too long. I'm not sure I could handle too many years of this. What he says about being my other half—I don't necessarily believe it, but maybe I need a distraction while I figure it out.

It's going to be one of those days. I wish I could get drunk or maybe high—anything to just go numb for a while. I know a sure way to block out these memories and emotions, but it bars me from meeting him again—for better or worse. I'm not ready to go down that road, not until I know what he and I will do.

I'm just so tired of this. The hatred's wearying, but I don't know how else to live.

As I focus on my tai-chi exercises, attempting to relax and become still, I swear I can hear his voice in my ear and feel his hands in my hair, but when I turn around, there is no one there. Damn. I'm losing my grip here. Maybe it's time for me to move. It'll give me something to do instead of worry about my sanity._ He knows where to find you anyway. It's not as though you'd never see him again._

"Shut up," I say aloud, trying to dispel this sensation of teetering on the brink of something and spiraling downward. I finish my routine and leave my home, going for a run in hopes that it will clear my mind.

I push myself to the limits of my endurance, until I have to rest. I lie back on the ground, panting hard and a stitch in my side. Even as my lungs burn, the dark place inside of me takes pleasure in the pain.

_I can make you feel alive, Claire_, his voice echoes in my head. So why doesn't he? Is this a continuation of his punishment for my foolhardy night with the blonde man?

I've never felt so disoriented in my whole life. My bloodlust for Sylar, my only compass these past five centuries, might be faulty. It might not even be the driving force I thought it was. I think I've lost my way, but I don't know how to get back on track. Until I figure that out, I'll just have to keep doing the same thing I've been doing for what seems like forever.


	10. September 2520

SEPTEMBER 2520

Every so often, he leaves me gifts. I'm not talking about diamonds or roses. Diamonds went out of fashion centuries ago, and roses have gone extinct. No, he leaves me things he thinks I can barter, things that can help me. The last time I opened my door and found an ancient laptop on the steps it got me about a month's worth of food and a week's rent. A 'new' fascination has been growing with USA-era technology lately; Sylar's uncanny ability to make things work, coupled with his penchant for being both lover, provider, and enemy to me, has made this a very good thing for me on the economic front.

So I draw back the deadbolt on my front door and let it swing open. As my sandal-clad feet touch the stoop… I stop.

The basket is old and wicker. The blanket is ratty with a faded floral pattern. The electric alarm clock is tied with a frayed green ribbon. And the infant in the basket is covered in blood.

I don't move. All I can do is stare at the still form in the basket. The blood has dried on its pale cheek; its fine blonde hair is matted and caked with the same thick fluids. Its eyes are shut. The sun, bright overhead, shines obscenely down on the still infant, making the tiny gold bracelet on its tiny little wrist shine.

I can't stop my reaction. My heart begins to race and my eyes go wide as I stare down. I can feel my pulse thudding as the world goes quiet around me and all I can focus on is the tiny baby in the basket, its pale pink jumper stained with congealed blood.

My hand travels to my chest, caresses my locket and grips the chain tightly. I can't believe he's done this. I expect so many atrocities from the man, the monster… but this is on a whole new level. For months I've been in a state of tension, of doubt, but as I stare down at the child on my doorstep, my mind is made up.

He is the killer I've been chasing, the twisted fuck I've been after for centuries. The man who murdered my family. My life. My child. The monster who has abused me, used me, toyed with me… made me love him.

My throat is burning but my eyes are dry and unblinking as I stare. The grotesque portrait he's painted with the basket and the child makes my stomach turn and my thoughts reel. I can't stand here, looking at it. It's too much.

I force myself to turn, teeth clenched and jaw gritted. My apartment seems dim now in contrast to the bright sun outside… and still I see the infant in front of me. The image is burned onto my retina, a new portrait I can put in my locket.

As I cross the threshold, I hear it.

Blankets rustle and a child whimpers.

And I turn.

It's staring up at me, blue eyes wide as its bow-shaped mouth forms a perfect 'o' and it begins to wail. Its bloody fists escape the confines of the blanket and the perfect little fingers wave about until a thumb finds its way into its mouth.

It quiets and its eyes flutter shut against the bright sun.

I fall into a heap on my own front porch, legs too weak to hold me as I stare down at the infant, wondering what Sylar was thinking and what the hell I'm supposed to do.

**_This was another short, but extremely important chapter. Hope you enjoy!_**

**_Love, Mel (who is back from vacation) and Chuck_**


	11. September 2520 2

_**Popped in to do a quick edit. All better now. **_

_Later…_

I've drawn the blinds. The thought of him watching me in this state of panic is less than appealing. I let the dim light from the single hanging bulb in the ceiling fill the room, giving an almost eerie cast to my surroundings, and I remember why I like keeping the windows open. Electricity these days sucks.

I'm pacing the scarred and splintered hardwood floor of my living room, my eyes glancing furtively towards the basket on the other side of the room every few minutes.

The baby is alive. The adrenaline and feeling of sickness that had flooded me when I'd found it… her… hasn't entirely left. Once I'd regained any sense of myself on the porch, I'd grabbed the basket and the clock, running into the house and slamming the door shut behind me. I'd inspected the baby then, lifting her carefully out of her blankets as the dried blood flaked off of her skin and into my hands.

I'd removed her tiny, blood-soaked clothes, crusted and stuck to her otherwise pale skin. There were no marks, not a cut or a puncture wound or even a rash. She was perfect. The blood obviously belonged to someone else. Her parents no doubt; why else would Sylar have brought me a blood-drenched baby?

I didn't let my thoughts wander in that direction for long. She was still sleeping despite my handling of her. She looked like a tiny cherub lying there, tiny blonde locks turned pink with blood.

I couldn't bear to touch her for another second. I dumped her back into the basket, covering her with the blanket and letting the crusting pink jumper fall next to the alarm clock.

What the hell had he been thinking bringing a child here? I had enough trouble taking care of myself, what made him think I could handle an infant? Maybe he'd gone mad, forgotten which century it was. Four hundred years ago, I would have been able to drop the baby off at the local fire station, but these days… these days people had a hard enough time caring for themselves and keeping their own children fed. No one would take in an orphan. New laws had been made just twenty years before to prevent people from feeling guilty over turning away the parentless. Orphans are now sent to special camps outside the city limits. No infant would survive there. Teenagers barely manage. "Orphanages" today are the new Auschwitz. The smoke rising from them daily attests to that fact, and curiously enough, they are one of the only institutions that has remained intact since that particular government scattered.

I glance at the corner with the sleeping angel… Obviously, I can't take her there.

She squirms in her basket, letting out a baby sigh and I flinch at the sound. It's been so long since I've been around someone so small. I don't really go out much… and when I do, it's not to meet people with kids.

She's awake now, her wide blue eyes open and curious. The perfect porcelain of her skin is still obscenely flecked with dried blood. I can't handle it anymore.

I'm leaning over the basket in seconds, arms reaching down and lifting her up and out of the tattered blankets. She squirms slightly in my hands as I lift her, supporting her head. I remember that much at least. I wonder briefly how old she is. She's not a newborn, but she can't be that old. A couple of week's maybe. She doesn't have much strength in her neck, though she's lifting it slightly and turning her little head from side to side. No teeth. And she's beginning to make noise.

"Hi," I say lamely, resting her against my shoulder and making my way to the kitchen. She continues to gurgle over my shoulder, hands clenched tightly in my shirt.

I keep her in my arms as I plug the sink, running the tap and hoping my warm water is working today. It is.

I set her in the water, careful not to let her slip down. All I need is to drown the live baby Sylar left on my doorstep. I'm sure he'd appreciate the irony there.

Once she's cleaned, the water is tinged pink. I drain it quickly, picking her tiny slippery body up and grabbing my jacket to wrap her in. I carry her back to the living room. She's fussing now, her little lungs showing a bit of power as she cries. Honestly, I'm surprised she was so quiet up until now. I get the feeling she's not a very loud baby.

"I'm sorry," I say, not sure why I'm talking to the infant, "I don't have any milk."

Her cries stop briefly at the sound of my voice and she watches intently before giving another whimper.

"What am I going to do with you?" I say softly, picking her up and holding her close to my chest, hoping my heartbeat will calm her.

She turns her face to my breast and begins to nuzzle through my shirt. I can't help smiling. I frown as I catch myself. This isn't my baby. It's a game my own personal stalker left on my doorstep. It's a helpless infant I'll never be able to find a home for…

My eyes wander to the basket and the clock on the floor and I realize just what he intended me to use them for. Looks like I'm taking a trip to the trade center.

I look down at the baby in my arms and wonder just what I'm supposed to do with her in the meantime. Her brief, distressed cry makes up my mind for me.

Minutes later, a long strip of cloth has her resting against my chest and I'm out the door, basket and electronic in tow.

**_Hola. If you are enjoying this story, please remember to review. It is not a necessity, but we do love to hear your comments/feedback. _**

**_Truly, Mel and Chuck._**


	12. October 2520

OCTOBER 2520

"You need something new to wear, Dani," I tell the baby as she coos from the basket that constitutes her bed. I haven't gotten around to finding her something that isn't bloodstained, so she pretty much wears either her original jumper or just a diaper.

I step into the bathroom, piercing my ears and pulling my hair back into a ponytail. When I come back, I lift the baby into the makeshift sling and grab the old keyboard I found yesterday. We come back with some food and two onesies. I dress her in the yellow one, the pattern faded so that it's almost nonexistent, and set her in the basket on the table, so she can see what's going on.

I turn around to wash my hands, humming a song to Dani. I freeze when I realize someone is humming with me. Reassuring myself of the knife on my belt, I turn back to my daughter.

He's standing there, holding Dani like she belongs to him, and watching me. A corner of his mouth has turned up into a cynical smile.

I knew he couldn't stay away. I knew he'd show up to continue this game. Now that he has, though, I am frozen. This child, who has been with me only a month, is my baby. And she's in the hands of the man I hate most in the world.

"Gabriel," I acknowledge, remembering to use his given name just in time. No reason to upset him when he's holding the baby.

He smiles then. "Why, Claire. You used my real name. What a surprise. Almost as big a treat as the one I brought you." He looks down at Dani, one thumb stroking her round cheek.

I swallow. "Why are you here?" I'm still unmoving. My body is under my power, but it's betraying me. Sylar might as well be controlling me for all the good I'm doing.

"That's funny. Your first question isn't why I left a baby on your doorstep, but what I'm doing here now. Am I to take it that you've grown fond of Danielle?" Hearing her name on his lips makes me shiver and gives me the strength to move forward.

"Give her to me," I demand, before he locks my muscles in place. I'm only three feet away from him now.

"Not just yet, Claire-bear," he says, using my childhood nickname to piss me off, something he used to do when we lived together. It still works. He hears my murderous thoughts and chuckles. He shifts Dani to his other arm, eyes always on me.

"You're so easy, Claire. You'd think after this long you wouldn't be bothered by that anymore. Maybe some things really never change. But let's not get distracted. Tell me, do you enjoy my gift?" His gaze is piercing, and I feel that my answer now is going to be a turning point.

"You…what did you do?" My mind has gone largely blank.

He frowns. "You don't sound very grateful, Claire. I thought you'd appreciate this a little more. Maybe I should just…take it back." My heart stutters at his words.

"She's a baby! You left a baby at my home, with no explanation or anything!" I take a deep breath, calming myself before continuing, "Where did she come from? And whose is she really?"

"She's yours, now. The rest of it doesn't matter. If you don't want my gift, just say so. I'll take her back."

"That isn't good enough, Sylar. Where are her parents? Why did you bring her to me?" His eyes flash as I revert to his moniker.

"They're dead," he tells me flatly. "I'm returning your lost opportunity, Claire. You either want it or you don't." He stares at me as I struggle for words and releases his grip on me.

"She can't fix things. She's not…she can't replace him." Even as I tell him so, I look back to the baby girl in his arms. I want her so badly.

"I didn't say that. But she'll be a nice distraction for you," he speaks with assurance. I step forward to take Dani in my arms. I can feel the tension between us as he gently transfers her to my grasp. She coos and reaches her hand in his direction.

"I meant what I said," I tell him quietly. I don't want to upset Dani. "This doesn't fix things. I'm still going to kill you." He reaches out to touch her fingers, then moves his hand to my face.

"She'll be something to keep you happy in the meantime," he murmurs, his expression unfathomable.

I stand with my daughter in my arms, alone together.

**_If you're enjoying what you've read, please remember to comment. We love to hear from you. It makes our day. _**

**_Mel and Chuck_**


	13. April 2021

April 2021

My stomach had just begun to swell. It was a gentle slope beneath my clothes, a subtle reminder of the life that was growing there and of everything that had led to its creation. I had found out the sex of the baby two days before. A little boy. In my own head, I already knew his name.

Peter. My baby. Our baby. I'd slipped into daydreaming about him, one hand over my belly, the other behind my head. He was bright-eyed and precocious with brown hair and fair skin. Playing soccer, laughing, nestling into bed and asking for me to leave the lights on.

I felt a hand over mine as Gabriel joined me on the wide couch, twining his fingers with mine.

"Pregnancy has made you so docile," he remarked, lips moving by my ear. He was still wearing his suit and tie. "I'm starting to miss the fight."

I turned my head to face him.

"Liar," I said softly. He'd been so giving lately, so tender. Since the doctors gave us the news he'd been gentle. There had been no punishments; not that I'd been doing anything to deserve them. He was right. Pregnancy had made me docile. The moment the results had come back… I had lost the will to fight him. Why should I have continued? I was married to him. There was no one else. We had a lovely home and a baby on the way. Hadn't he taken care of me for the last ten years, despite the fight, the hatred? Everyone deserved a second chance, didn't they? Even him?

Even me?

His expression went sober and searching as he stared at me. I hadn't felt the strings of his control for months now, and I didn't feel them then as he leaned forward. His eyes fluttered shut as his lips met mine, and I let myself enjoy the sensation, kissing him back tentatively. His mouth turned into a smile above mine and he pulled back, his tongue tracing the contours of his lips.

"Well, I don't miss coming back from kissing you missing half my tongue," he said.

I couldn't help laughing and a sharp pain hit my ribs as I did so. I stopped abruptly.

"I thought you liked the pain."

"I'm no masochist," he said bluntly. I noted it and went back to staring at his face. There were so many things I hated about that face, and so many things I loved.

The way his eyes got hard when I disappointed him. The way he smiled when he was cutting my skin with a knife and watching me bleed. The half-smirk he got when he controlled me in public. The way his voice went low when he was forcing me to do things I wasn't comfortable with… the way his teeth cut my flesh when he let himself go in bed. I hated them all.

But there were things I hoped our child inherited. The way he smiled when I did something without a fight. His grin when he'd found out about the baby. The way his hands caressed my skin and made me feel loved during sex. The way he groaned and shuddered when he came. Well… maybe our child shouldn't inherit all the things that didn't terrify me about his father.

"What's it going to be like when the baby comes?" I found myself asking. I wondered about that a lot. "You're a killer…"

His eyes flashed and his hand on mine tensed.

"It's just what you are," I continued. "I know what you do, Gabriel. I'm not blind. I'm the one cleaning the blood off of your boots half the time. I just…" I rolled to face him. He adjusted his body to accommodate my size. "I don't want our son around that. You can't come home bloody and fuck me on the kitchen table because you're still on some sort of sadistic high."

He was taking it stoically, watching me and seeming to consider my monologue.

"I just," I continued, "I don't want to raise a baby in that. And I know you. You don't want to screw up your son any more than I do." I let it go at that, watching him until he chose to speak.

"You're right," he said simply. "Things will have to change. I can't get rid of the hunger, Claire. I need to kill, to learn. But I can hide it. I can live a normal life with you." He seemed to consider that for a moment. "At least until the baby is all grown up." He smiled. "Then we can resume our more… strenuous activities." I shivered at the thought, but the assurance of coming normalcy was enough to help me relax.

We stayed there in companionable silence for a while longer.

"What do you think of yellow?" I asked. "For the nursery. I want to do it in suns and stars and… other yellow things. With dark blue accents."

He chuckled into the curve of my neck before sitting up and beginning to loosen his tie.

"I'll leave you my credit card," he said, "You can pick out the things for the nursery tomorrow."

I fell asleep there, safe and warm, picking out colors in my head for a nursery that would never hold our baby boy.

**_If you're enjoying what you've read, please remember to comment. We love to hear from you. It makes our day. _**

**_Mel and Chuck_**


	14. January 2521

JANUARY 2521

It's the end of January, and it's freezing out. There have been snowstorms lately that have forced the two of us inside. I've drawn the shutters over the windows and Dani and I have adapted to the poor electric lighting. At least the pipes haven't frozen this winter.

She's getting bigger every day. I've had to find her a whole new wardrobe because she's outgrown the tiny thing she arrived with, and it's far too cold for the onesies. We've grown attached to one another in the four months since I found her on my doorstep. And why shouldn't we? There isn't a doubt in my mind that her parents are dead. Sylar wouldn't leave a loose end like that. He intended for me to have her, like a stray puppy I could find and feed and love and keep. And however twisted it seems I'm going along with it. I can't help loving the little girl I've made my own.

I dress her for the day, picking her up from where she lies in the bassinet beside my bed. She kicks her legs and waves her fists, smiling as I take her out of her long pajamas and slip her into long cotton underthings and a jumpsuit. Her hair is getting longer, blonder. It wisps out in fringes around her face and waves around her cheeks as she giggles.

She smiles so much now. When I kiss her hands and feet. When I tickle her tummy. When Sylar comes to visit. I think that disturbs me most about the situation.

Of course he couldn't just give her to me and leave it at that. No, Sylar is all about the pleasure with the pain. You must hurt to appreciate pleasure. It's something I learned early in our relationship. In the beginning, there was rarely a time he would stroke me without sending low volts of electricity through my skin. I learned then that all kinds of tension could lead to release. But now, he's treading on the emotional.

He visits at least once a week. The first few times he came, I tried to kill him. The knife felt heavy and familiar in my hand as it sank through flesh and cracked bones. I'd been able to work up quite a powerful stroke in the last half millennium. But the display had upset Dani and left me with a bloody mess to scrub off of the hardwood floor of my kitchen. Besides, what were the odds I'd find the spot randomly anyway? As good as stabbing him felt, I had the baby to think of now, and mothers couldn't just go around trying to kill people. I had decided to be more careful about it.

And so, as I set Dani in her high chair and open the fridge to find some milk to warm for her and a can of mashed peas, his voice doesn't send me into a frenzy of hatred.

"You're running low on food." His voice is low, calm.

"Well, the weather hasn't exactly been great for bartering lately," I say without turning around. I know without having to look that he's holding Dani.

I hear him step out of the room and my heartbeat accelerates. Still, I stop myself from following. He won't hurt her. That's not his style.

I kick the fridge shut and turn on the gas stove, taking the time to warm her food thoroughly before following them into the living room. We discussed this over a month ago. Fighting him about holding her had become wearying, and he just did what he wanted anyway. Sylar had chosen to make himself a part of my daughter's life, and all I could do was watch and hope for an opportunity to end him before she was old enough to get attached.

That particular prospect wasn't looking so promising, not when almost every minute of my day was spent with her and he was basically indestructible.

I'd tried killing him various ways over the centuries. My particular favorite had been in the 2200s, shortly after the volcano had erupted. He'd found me as the lava was still flowing, making sure I was alive to toy with. I'd pushed him into a lahar, a boiling mud flow that should have filled his lungs, disintegrated his flesh, and encased him in a cement-like substance when it dried. He had found me a week later. Our discussion hadn't been pleasant, as it consisted mostly of me screaming and re-growing lots of charred flesh. The one thing I'd learned then was that it is best to stick to the knife. Getting creative only ensured misery for me afterwards. Besides, sticking a spike in his special spot was the only way to get rid of him for good. I could rip him to pieces and burn them all up and his ashes would still reform themselves if I didn't take out that bundle of nerves first. The only problem there was that he was a shape-shifter and could move the tiny spot wherever the hell he wanted, whenever the hell he wanted.

Come to think of it, stabbing him was really more of a formality these days anyway, one I could easily dispense with until my daughter was grown. Still, there was the problem of him insinuating himself back into my life, something I had sworn before I would never let happen.

When I round the corner into the living room, he's there, sitting on the couch with Dani in his lap. She's lying on her back, head resting on his knees and tiny feet beating against the firm expanse of his abdomen. He's smiling as he looks down at her, fingers waggling above her face. She's reaching up, fists wrapping around his fingers as she giggles and snorts.

I clear my throat. "It's time for her breakfast," I say. The smile leaves his lips instantly at the sound of my voice, and I'm almost sad to see it go. Almost.

"I think we have some things to discuss," he says thoughtfully as I scoop Dani off of his lap and balance her on my hip.

"I think we've had enough discussions," I retort. I turn to go and his control swamps me, freezing me in place, the weight of the baby on my hip.

"I'm going to move in here. With the two of you," he says, voice low and musing as he rises and approaches us. He says it as if the thought only just occurred to him. I shudder.

"No." My voice is firm, but useless against his resolve. He laughs.

"Yes." He comes around to face me and plucks Dani out of my arms. She smiles at him and wraps her fist around a patch of his tee-shirt. He meets my gaze, eyes sober. "And we both know how frustrating it gets when you disobey me… so let's not make this a power struggle. I don't think Danielle would appreciate having a puppet for a mother." With that, he gives me a grin, releases his hold on me, and makes his way into the kitchen.

By the time I work up the strength to follow, he has her in the high chair and is feeding her the peas, spoon in his hand and airplane sound effects on his lips.

It's my nightmare. He's back in my life, in my home. He's holding the child that he gave me. And all I can think of is that day on the couch, the ease with which we spoke, laughed, kissed. And how he said things would be different.

**_If you're enjoying what you've read, please remember to comment. We love to hear from you. It makes our day. _**

**_Mel and Chuck_**


	15. February 2521

FEBRUARY 2521

It's only been a week, and I'm already fighting to keep my temper. Now that Sylar is living here with us, I've had to rearrange the way I do everything. He knows, of course, that it sets me on edge, and he likes it. Smugness rolls off him in waves.

He comes out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist as he dries his hair with another. I steal a glance before returning my attention to Dani.

"Aren't you a pretty girl," I murmur to her, a smile playing at my lips. "You're so pretty." Dani gnaws her fist as I finish dressing her. "Let's have some breakfast, and then we can decide what to do today." I walk past Sylar, trying to pretend he isn't there. I see him smirk before I leave the bedroom; he knows he's impossible to ignore.

I feed Dani her breakfast and leave her in the high-chair as I eat. She looks up and smiles as Sylar enters the room. He returns the smile as he lifts her out of the chair and carries her into the kitchen, foraging for food. My mood drops even lower as I watch my daughter interact with Sylar, but I guess I can't help that.

He's actually been surprisingly well-behaved around her. This courtesy has been partially extended to me as well. He hasn't hurt me yet, and he's limited how often he takes control of my body. Somehow, though, I can't find it in me to be overwhelmingly thankful. He's still here.

I think back to his first night here. As I put Dani down to bed, he stood behind me and looked down at the sleeping baby. His hands came down on my shoulders, and as I stiffened, he leaned to whisper in my ear.

"Shh. We don't want to wake Danielle." With that, his arms curled around the front of me, one hand resting on my breast, pulling me back to rest against his body. We stood that way for a moment before I spoke.

"Let go of me, Sylar, or I'll cut something off while you sleep." I could feel his chuckle as he released me.

"Speaking of which, where were you planning on sleeping?" he asked silkily.

"My bed," I growled back, "If you have to be here, you can sleep on the couch."

"I don't think so. Your bed looks big enough for both of us," he grinned as I lay down against my will.

Since then, I have fallen asleep every night with my enemy's arm around me and his breath in my hair.

My thoughts snap back to reality as he says my name again. "What?"

He raises an eyebrow and repeats himself: "Where are you going today, and when will you be back?"

"I don't have to report to you," I dismiss him as I reach for Dani. He grabs my wrist with his free hand and twists it back lightly.

"You do if you want certain privileges."

I scowl at him and jerk my arm free. "We're going for a walk, and I'm going to look around for odd jobs near the trade center," I inform him stiffly.

He hands Dani to me without another word, and she and I spend the day as I said we would.

I come back home that afternoon, tired and a little disappointed. No work today. I think people are reluctant to hire a woman with a baby on her arm.

As I open the door, the reek of blood assails my nostrils. I swallow hard and peer inside, keeping Dani turned away from the scene in the living room.

"Is this the woman you were looking for?" Sylar demands of the man on the wall. The wretch shakes his head desperately, blubbering.

"Don't lie to me," he hisses. Sylar turns back to me. "Take Danielle outside. Don't come back until I tell you to."

I don't need a second warning—I turn and flee the house. It isn't long before my muscles involuntarily bring me back. I cover Dani's eyes and put her in bed before dealing with the mess in the living room.

"What the hell is going on here?" I ask angrily. I shove him, hard, and he looks down on me impassively. All the stress, the fear, and the pain of old memories have built up, and it bursts out.

"I thought you said things would change!" I slam my fists against his chest.

"I thought I mattered to you! How can you expect me to raise Dani if I have to check the room for bodies before bringing her in?" I hit him again, my eyes filling with angry tears. He takes my blows until I finish my rant, and then speaks in a low voice.

"That man entered your home by way of the front door. He was going to steal anything of value and have a little fun with you while he was at it." I am silent. "He was a threat to you and the baby. I took care of it."

"You killed him, Sylar. You murdered someone in cold blood in my house. My daughter's not safe with you around." His hand whips out and grabs me by the hair.

"You stupid, stubborn girl. I'm doing you favors. I took care of things so that you wouldn't have to deal with that—" his boot nudges the corpse, "later. And keep in mind, sweet Claire, that I'm not a danger to Danielle unless you force my hand." I feel a chill run through me.

I straighten up and stare into his cold eyes.

"Get rid of it." He nods as I retreat to the bedroom, shaken and unwilling to show it.

**_If you're enjoying what you've read, please remember to comment. We love to hear from you. It makes our day. _**

**_Mel and Chuck_**


	16. Late February 2521

LATE FEBRUARY 2521

He's been patient. For him at least. So I am unsurprised when he broaches the topic one night.

Dani is finally sleeping through the nights and Sylar has moved her crib into the living room. That should have been all the warning I needed. Still, as his arm wraps around me, turning me to face him instead of wrapping himself around my back, my stomach flutters with a strange sort of anticipatory dread.

I'm in my nightgown and his hand traces up from my thigh to my waist to the side of my breast. I can't help but shiver as he watches me and I meet his gaze. His eyes are warm tonight, not the cold calculating circles I've been seeing since he moved in.

"Don't you get bored, Claire?" His voice is inquisitive as he continues to stroke my side, his fingers trailing across and down my hand to play in my palm. "Frustrated? It's been a while for both of us."

"You're not going to get me to agree to sleep with you Sylar." I say the words bluntly, not really caring if I'm punished for them.

His eyes flash-freeze as he studies me.

His hand wraps around my wrist, crushing as he yanks it forward. I feel it bend and break beneath his heavy grip and the sharp snap of pain that always accompanies broken bones. My breath catches, but I keep myself from screaming. Still, the sensation does something to me. The lines between pleasure and pain have grown quite thin in the last 500 years.

"Don't be petulant," he demands, loosening his grip enough for my bones to mend themselves. They pop back into place and I'm left with only a dull throb where the damage was done. He smiles as my skin shifts beneath his in the mending process, lifting my hand up and dropping a soft kiss on the smooth skin of the inside of my wrist.

I shiver.

"I'm not being petulant," I say as his mouth traces from my wrist down to the crook of my arm. He inhales.

"What else would you call it?" he asks, seemingly content to be patient a while longer.

"Prudence. The last time I slept with you it didn't exactly work out so well." He arches a perfect brow.

"I thought it turned out just fine. Or did I misinterpret your multiple orgasms?"

"You know what I mean," I snap. My tone of voice seems to annoy him.

"No. I'm not sure I do." He yanks me closer, pressing my chest to his as he stares down into my eyes. "Why don't you explain?"

I take a few deep breaths as his hands begin to rove across my nightgown again, this time grasping and tugging insistently.

"You're never careful," I hiss, trying to push his hands away unsuccessfully as he chuckles.

"I'm always careful, Claire. Careful to make things good for you too…" His lips descend on my neck and I feel his stubble brush against my chest.

"That's not what I mean and you know it," I hiss. I tangle my fingers in his hair, tugging sharply to force his face up.

He moves quickly, spurred by my fingers against his scalp. His hands grab my wrists, forcing them up above my head and against the pillow as he rolls me onto my back, straddling me as the sheet slips down his back. I can feel his hot length pressed against my stomach and it makes me shudder. I'm not sure if the response is out of anticipation or disgust.

"Do I?" he asks, voice hard and menacing. "Because I'm not quite sure I see the problem here. I want you, and your body certainly wants me, however many different ways you may try to deny it." I can feel the proof of his words pooling between my thighs and I close my eyes. He continues talking anyway. "We're good together. I'm the only man who does it for you Claire. You're a masochist and I'm just the sick sadist to make you moan." His voice has gone low and sultry as he lowers himself to rest over my body. His mouth is right by my ear and he's transferred both wrists to one hand so his other can trace his trademark electric sizzle down my body. "You're my wife. I know your body inside and out… why shouldn't I take you?" His fingers find the hem of my nightgown, hitching it up. "Right here." His hand covers that throbbing center where all my blood seems to be rushing. "Right now?"

I have to remind myself why I hate him as he manipulates me, of all the reasons I have to deny him what he wants. My family. He killed them… I try to picture them in my mind, try to draw their image up… but somehow, all I can see is Sylar, Dani in his arms as they rummage through the fridge together in the early morning. There has to be a reason I'm against this, something…

"And believe me… I'll be very careful to make this something you won't ever forget…" His voice trails off as his soft kisses and sharp bites trail from my jaw to my clavicle…

Careful…

And then I remember and go stone-cold beneath him. My body stiffens beneath his touch and becomes about as pliable as an ice sculpture.

He pauses above me, one hand beneath my nightgown, doing delicious things to my body as the other traps my arms above my head.

"Protection," I say, voice hoarse. "I will not go through that again."

We lay there for a while, frozen and welded together until he withdraws. I can't tell what he's thinking. His face has gone blank above me, a part of me… a very small part… is thankful.

"I see," he says, eyes cold and empty as he lets me loose, turning quickly and swinging his feet onto the chilly floor. He's out of the room before I have time to sit up. I hear the front door slam seconds later and the locks draw themselves.

He has gone, and I am left alone. My bed is my own for the time being. The monsters have gone. I should be elated.

But somehow, the happiness I should be feeling is hard to find. The bed shouldn't feel empty without the monster. The frightened child shouldn't feel let down when the lights go on.

Still…

I rise quickly and go to Dani's crib. She's sleeping soundly and doesn't wake as I lift her and cradle her in my arms, bringing her to our room and settling her on the bed next to me, her tiny heart beating beneath my hand, steady and reassuring as I fall asleep.

**_If you're enjoying what you've read, please remember to comment. We love to hear from you. It makes our day. _**

**_Mel and Chuck_**


	17. March 2521

**_Please remember the M rating._**

MARCH 2521

Since that night, he hasn't come back to bed with me. He stays until Dani falls asleep, and then leaves. I don't know where he goes or what he does. I'm not sure why I care, but I do.

He does a good job of masking his emotions around Dani, though. She adores him. He's always fondling her, playing with her little toes, feeding her. I've heard her gurgling at him something that sounds suspiciously like "Dada". I cut my hand on a knife when I heard her say it the first time.

Sylar's become her favorite toy, not the monster he's been for most of my life. It makes me sick inside.

And still he avoids speaking to me whenever possible. It bothers me more than I care to admit.

This bed feels too big now. _Maybe I shouldn't have given up on killing him yet_, I think as I toss restlessly. It would reset the balance, allow me to take my shot and give him a chance to retaliate. I'll figure something out tomorrow. Something sneaky and clever and unexpected.

I hear Dani whimper in the other room, and I get up to check on her. He nearly gives me a heart attack, standing over the crib like that. He looks up at me, taking in the sight of my ruffled hair and nightgown.

"Go back to bed," Sylar tells me evenly, "I've got her." He lifts Dani from her bed and murmurs something soothing to her. All I can do is watch as he comforts my daughter in the dark living room. What happened to the nightmare, the sadist, the killer? I resolve to find him as I turn back to my bedroom. I don't trust this Sylar. I have to remind myself of who he really is before I can forget.

I spend the next day in kind of a haze. Dani and I go for a walk, and he plays with her as I make dinner and clean up afterwards. I've been running through ideas most of the afternoon.

Poison? A gun? There are no volcanoes nearby, so that option's out. I could try trapping him in a fire or a collapsing building….

I hear him in the living room, "Time for bed, Danielle. Mommy and I need to have a talk."

Shit. I'd hoped that Dani would distract him from hearing me. Shit.

"The bedroom, Claire. Unless you want Danielle to hear this?" I walk into my room, shaking in some weird mix of fear and anticipation.

I turn to see Sylar close the door behind himself. His brow furrows slightly as he moves toward me, locking my joints in place.

"Claire, if I remember correctly, you told yourself that killing me would take a backseat to raising your little girl. Don't tell me you've changed your mind?" He doesn't expect an answer.

"But of course you're not thinking of Danielle right now. You're still that self-centered little girl inside. So all you see is how you can take your next shot at me. And you knew I'd find out one way or another, and that I couldn't let this slide. So unless I'm wrong…you're regretting your words the other night. Am I wrong?" He speaks softly, moving closer until he's just a few inches from me. He reaches down and pulls my knife free from my belt. One thought from him has me strip to nakedness.

I lick my lips and he shakes his head.

"Not just yet," he whispers, "you haven't earned it. You've been plotting to murder me in all kinds of tricky ways, and I don't appreciate it at all. Just remember not to scream. We wouldn't want to wake the baby."

With that he drives my knife into my stomach and twists before releasing it. My mouth opens in a silent scream and I sag forward, leaning on him as I taste blood.

"Stand up," he commands as he controls my body. "Pull it out." We spend the next hour that way; he invents a hundred thousand ways for me to torture myself before he is satisfied that I have learned my lesson for now.

I lie on the bed, gasping. He takes off his clothes and sits sideways next to me, brushing my blonde hair off of my forehead.

"All better," he rasps as he claims my mouth with his. His eyes gleam as he looks down on me. I exult inwardly. Maybe now that he's gotten his psychotic fix, things can find some sort of balance and I can stop feeling so isolated.

"Don't fool yourself," he says as he grabs my jaw. "The only way you could think to manipulate me is if I allow you to do so." He kisses me again as his hands explore my curves, making me gasp for a different reason.

Damn it. My reason for refusal seemed airtight last time, and now I can't bring myself to remember why it had been so important. His fingers travel lower and lower, and I forget everything except him and what he's doing to me.

"Sometime you can explain why you have to make this so difficult," he rumbles in my ear, "especially when everything in you is eager to comply with my demands." I can feel him everywhere and I slide my fingers through his hair.

His mouth moves over my body and I forget how to breathe. I sigh as his tongue caresses my skin and I hear his muffled warning, "Not yet, Claire." I swallow another moan when I feel him between my legs.

It really has been a long time for both of us.

He touches me and I writhe. "Now, Claire."

Sylar enters me then and takes the rest of the night to make up for every moment of pain he caused tonight.

**_If you're enjoying what you've read, please remember to comment. We love to hear from you. It makes our day. _**

**_Mel and Chuck_**


	18. March 2521 2

**_Please remember the M rating._**

_The next morning…_

I really need to get a set of sheets that isn't stark white. There are pools of congealed blood all around me. Mine, of course. He's not really into shedding bodily fluids—at least not that kind.

The sun has barely begun to rise and the sky is pink with the first hints of dawn. Dani is still sleeping, despite the one muffled scream he managed to tear from my lips near the end. As it turns out, I'm more affected by him plunging into me repeatedly than by my own knife ripping my intestines to shreds.

My skin ripples with gooseflesh as his warm fingers trace patterns on my flesh. He writes something in the blood coating my abdomen and then smears it away with his palm, letting his hand travel up to caress an already bloodied breast as he rests his cheek against my thigh.

"You look incredibly erotic from this angle," he muses, taking a few seconds to toy with a nipple before his fingers dance back down to my navel. My back arches involuntarily, but not from his control. He hasn't used that all morning. This reaction is pure instinct. "Covered in blood and sweat—you're a glistening reminder of the things I love most in life."

"And what are those?" I ask, truly curious. There are so many things I don't know about this man, despite the centuries we've spent together. Of course there's the useless knowledge I gained during our relatively brief marriage. For example: He likes his eggs scrambled. He likes spending mornings in bed. He hates being contradicted. His favorite color is a very dark red. He wears extra large shirts that engulf me when I pull them on in the mornings. He likes dinner before seven. His favorite movie is _A Clockwork Orange_. But really, can I say I know what he loves doing most? A small voice in my head tells me I already know.

"Killing… and sex." He looks up at me through dark lashes as he sighs and begins to move up my body, dropping kisses across my thighs and belly before he comes to my breasts, kissing the tip of each one before letting his cheek rest against the swell. I can feel his coarse chest hair against my stomach, brushing and tickling. "Though it's not really the killing so much as the learning. You can learn so much about a person when you kill them." He lets his body rest on top of mine. He's become just as blood-coated as I am.

"For example," he says, meeting my eyes and letting his hand slide up to my neck, caressing it lightly before he takes hold roughly. He's strangling me, fingers crushing as he rises to his knees, straddling me. I feel him brush against my belly as he moves, staring down at me with dark, loving eyes. "Every time I used to kill you, you'd glare at me. But now…" I can hear every word he says through the rushing in my ears as I stare up at him, adjusting to the lack of oxygen and feeling his bruising hands around my neck, crushing bone and tearing muscle. "Now you just stare, like you'd let me do it a thousand times over without a fight."

His words are jarring. That can't be right. He makes me do this. I can't fight him. He's a damned god in comparison to me. My only value, my only strength, comes from my ability to withstand all the punishment he throws my way.

"And then you make excuses," he continues, still cutting off my supply of oxygen as he grins almost maniacally, "even though you could do anything to struggle. You're no puppet right now, Claire. You're just mine." My thoughts finally begin to grow fuzzy as the world seems to start spinning above me. What he's saying makes so much sense…

And now my lungs are burning as air rushes back into them. My throat is sore and healing from the damage. Gabriel's halfway across the room, heading for the shower.

I lie on the bed, slick with my own blood and the proof of his ownership between my thighs as the water runs in the bathroom. My thoughts are still swimming. I'm in some sort of haze now, watching the ceiling above me move as he comes padding barefoot back to my bedside. I wonder vaguely if he's stepping in the blood and hope he has the sense to wipe his feet before he trails it into the living room.

"I have a gift for you," he says, leaning over with a cup of water in one hand and something, too small for me to see from where I lay, in his other. He's careful not to touch me and soil himself.

I sit up. I've completely healed and all that's left me in the pleasant buzzing sensation from his easy strangulation.

"What is it?" I ask.

He smiles sardonically.

"A pill. Didn't you say you wanted something of the sort?" My breathing falters at the reminder and he chuckles dryly.

"Didn't I tell you before?" he says, ripping away the bloody sheets and clearing a place for himself to sit. "Your wish is my command." He proffers the glass and I take it. It's the pill I'm wary of, still in his other hand. I have a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that if I reach for it, something awful will happen.

Against my better judgment, I reach out, fingers collecting the tiny pill. His free hand grabs my wrist before I can withdraw it. He scowls down at me. If I didn't know him any better, I'd say the look on his face is pain. But I do, and so I can see the calculated anger withheld there.

"Ah, ah, ah…" he says, stopping me dead as I move. "I think first we need to have a little chat."

"Okay," I say, breathless.

"This is a morning-after pill," he says, tilting his head to the side and looking me straight in the eyes.

"It will prevent any… unwanted complications."

"Thank you," I say quickly, "I think—"

"Shut up, Claire, I'm not done speaking." My throat constricts automatically beneath his glower. "As I was about to say, before you so rudely interrupted me, these pills are hard to come by. As such, I expect you to show your appreciation… emphatically."

I can see where this conversation is going, and I don't like it. At least, the logical part of my mind doesn't, but the part of me that's still quivering beneath his touch doesn't seem to be at all worried.

"No more trying to kill me. No more lies… and no more denying that you want to fuck me as much as I want to fuck you." I can see what he's doing. He's using this as a tool, turning my fears against me to achieve his ends. The threat is there, subtle and terrifying. He might as well be saying 'Do what I want or I'll force you to have my bastard child.' But then again, hasn't he already done that? Dani is becoming as much his as she is mine. He's insinuating himself firmly into our lives and turning this into something it isn't. I am not his wife. I am not the mother of his child… I refused long ago to ever become those things again. And yet here I am.

I feel his constrictive hold on my windpipes ease, giving me the option to either accept or deny his 'gift'. His blackmail.

"All right," I hear myself say. There was a time I would have called myself a traitorous bitch for giving in to him. But really, what other option is there? I can handle this. I can handle him… and I can find a way to end him eventually.

He laughs as I think it and leans forward, dropping a light kiss on my forehead and the pill into my palm.

"Good luck with that," he says before leaving me by myself, alone and bewildered.

**_If you're enjoying what you've read, please remember to comment. We love to hear from you. It makes our day. _**

**_Mel and Chuck_**


	19. May 2522

MAY 2522

I wake to hear Dani's voice, a singsong in the next room, "Mommy, Mommy. Mommy?" I yawn and look over at Gabriel, who is sleeping like the dead. If I touch him, though, he'll wake up, so I leave him alone.

I shuffle into the living room to see my daughter standing up in her crib, looking out at me with an angel's smile. "Mommy!"

"Hi, baby. Did you sleep well?" I lift the toddler out of her bed and seat her in the high chair. Rifling through the cupboards, I find a pan and start making breakfast. Pancakes sound good. I put one on a plate for Dani and leave the rest in the oven to keep warm. Dani finishes her breakfast quickly; by the time I've finished cooking and putting everything away, she's got bits of food in her blond hair and all over her face. I sigh and wipe her face off with a damp rag.

"Let's go wake Daddy up, sweetie," I whisper as we walk into the bedroom. She's pretty steady on her legs now, and likes to walk by herself.

"Daddy's sleeping," Dani notes as I pick her up and climb back into bed. I nod seriously and set her between me and her father.

"It's okay. Just tell him to wake up for breakfast, Dani." She leans over and pats his chest insistently with her chubby hand.

"Wake up, Daddy. Breffast." Her vocabulary isn't bad, but some of her words come out a little mangled.

He inhales deeply and opens his eyes, smiling when he sees his daughter looking over him.

"Good morning, Danielle. It looks like you've already eaten, though." His fingers find a stray crumb I missed and flick it away. He looks to me as the baby starts tugging on his hand, trying to get him up and out of bed. "Good morning, Claire."

"Happy birthday," I tell him. His smile turns wry as we both remember a time when he would've had to force me to say such a thing. He submits to my baby's demands and allows himself to be tugged into an upright position. He pulls her into his arms and walks with her to the kitchen.

"I hadda pancake," she informs him as he sits at the table with her in his lap. He carries on a conversation with her as I serve him and sit to eat. We take our time with breakfast. He feeds her a bite from his plate every so often, and she ends up a mess again.

I leave them in the kitchen as I get dressed in jeans and my tennis shoes. It's nice out today, and I want to go running later. I finish tying my shoes and look up to see them in the doorway.

"Do you mind going for a walk instead?" His voice is mild and I nod my agreement, reaching for the baby so they can both get dressed.

We walk out into the warm air and Dani giggles. She is content to walk between us, holding our hands, until she gets antsy and toddles ahead.

"Danielle, don't go too far," Gabriel calls. He casually takes my hand in his and I let him.

I'm not sure when I decided that we could play this game, be the perfect little family. Maybe it was when Gabriel started providing birth control, and we resumed our sex life. Or maybe it was when I heard him tell my daughter one night, "I love you." Maybe it was when I heard her say it to him.

Either way, I am reasonably content with our situation right now.

"The word you're looking for, Claire," he says, "is 'happy'." Maybe it is.

Dani stomps back to us, a pout threatening. "Tired. Up."

Gabriel swings her up onto his shoulders. The frown disappears and she grabs his hair, delighted.

We come back from our walk and put Dani down for a nap. He offers me a glass of water and the small pill I take every afternoon. After I swallow it, he puts the glass in the sink, and I stretch up on my toes to kiss him. He purrs deep in his chest, and we retire to the bedroom.

I straddle him as his fingers dig into my thighs, hard enough to bruise. Electricity dances from his hands and I grit my teeth. He pulls me down to kiss him as we finish, and I can smell singed hair as one of his hands grips the back of my head.

The sex is one thing I definitely missed when I only saw him once every ten years. I haven't felt this relaxed for a long time. He cradles me in his arms and I snuggle into his warmth, thinking, _It could always be like this._

"You don't believe that," he tells me. I am silent for a long time.

"I don't want to think too far ahead. I just want to be happy," I say, my voice husky. I sit up and try to change the subject, "Don't you want your cake?"

He looks at me for a minute. "Whatever you want, Claire." Somehow I don't think he's just talking about my plans for his birthday dinner.

"Daddy! I'm awake now!" He pulls on his boxers and a pair of jeans before walking out to Dani.

I pull on a bathrobe and throw together some dinner. Dani lets out an infantile gasp when she sees the little birthday cake.

"Mine?" she asks me, her eyes big and inquisitive. I smile and shake my head.

"It's Daddy's birthday, sweetie. He's going to blow out the candles and make a wish, and then we'll all eat some cake," I tell her, "When it's your birthday, you can have your own cake." She seems willing to accept that, and her attention returns to the lit candles.

"Come sit with me, Danielle, and you can help blow out the candles," he entices, holding his arms out for her. She wriggles away from me and runs to him. They blow out his candles together, Dani adding a little saliva to the icing.

He rolls his eyes. "A little spit never hurt anyone." I cut the cake, and we eat it together.

This family, this life….it makes me happier than I ever thought I could be again. What does it say about me, that the fact only makes me wonder when something is going to go horribly wrong?

**_If you're enjoying what you've read, please remember to comment. We love to hear from you. It makes our day. _**

**_Mel and Chuck_**


	20. October 2522

OCTOBER 2522

I'm making spaghetti. Gabriel managed to get the pasta the day before yesterday at the market, a hard acquisition. No doubt the vendor came out of it bloodied and poor. Still, I have been craving it lately, and with two cans of tomato sauce in the cabinet, all that has been missing are the carbs.

Now, as I stir the tomato sauce and watch the big pot of water begin to boil, my mouth is beginning to water.

A knock at the door distracts me, setting me on edge instantly.

Dani's at the table in her booster seat, scraps of old newspaper and a rare box of crayons spread out before her. She's finally learned that the colorful wax is supposed to be used on the paper and not on the wooden table, a concept she's been eager to demonstrate to me every chance she gets.

"Dani, baby," I say, setting down my spoon and making sure she's happily at play with her coloring, "Stay at the table. Mommy will be right back."

"Okaaay, Mommy," she sings, bright blue eyes intent on her crayons. Her hair has grown so long; thick golden curls bob around her angel's face and between her shoulder blades. I can't help but caress them on my way by, patting her on the head lightly.

As I round through the archway and step into the living room, I make a detour. I haven't been keeping my knife close lately, a lamentable result of living comfortably with my husband and daughter for more than a year.

I grab my knife from my nightstand drawer and Gabriel's gun from on top of the armoire, loading it quickly as I step towards the door.

I have no peephole, so I step to the side of the door, drawing the curtain back slightly to look out and onto the stoop. It's a courier. His bright uniform is almost grotesque against the colorless backdrop of the city's outskirts.

"Leave it on the steps," I shout through the window, keeping the loaded gun trained on him. He looks up, and I see fear flit across his features as he sees the gun. He nods, conveniently forgetting the paperwork in his hands and dropping the package.

I watch him mount his bike and disappear around the corner before I unbolt the door, pulling it open slowly and crouching down to retrieve the package. Gabriel has given me very specific instructions about opening the door when I'm alone in the house, especially when I have Dani with me. I am willing to concede, because although I think he goes just a tad overboard, the concern behind it is nice.

As I straighten, pushing the door shut with the toe of my boot, I hear it.

The splash comes first. Steaming water spills and splatters against hardwood floors.

Then comes the bang, the clatter and odd ringing of heavy metal falling carelessly against a hard surface.

And then the shriek.

My heart stops at the sound and everything I was holding falls to the ground.

She's screaming as I run, careening around the corner as fast as my feet will carry me. It seems like forever. Time slows and I can hear each individual rap of my feet on the ground, every thump of my heartbeat resounding in my ears.

And still, she's shrieking, the high wounded scream of a child in pain. My child.

My baby.

I make it into the kitchen and my mind absorbs several things all at once.

The chair has been dragged over to the stove. The pot is lying on its side, rolling around and still emitting that resounding bell noise. The water is everywhere, pooling on the floor around Dani…

She's drenched, her hair soaked and her skin a brilliant scarlet.

I can see the blisters from here.

I want to vomit, but I can't stop. I'm next to her, kicking the pot and screaming as I fall to my knees. The boiling water soaks through my jeans and scalds my knees.

I moan.

She's in my arms before I can think and I'm stripping her clothes off, wanting to separate her fragile skin from the heat. She's screaming, high and terrified. Her face is bright red and blistered, her eyes shut tight and unseeing.

"GABRIEL!" I scream. My voice sounds foreign. I don't even recognize it as it echoes in the kitchen against the backdrop of our baby daughter's pained screeches.

And then he's there. I don't stop to question how he got here so fast. He was supposed to be across the city, trading for things we need. But that's not important now. What's important is the way his eyes flash in panic and then go blank as he takes Dani from my arms, not bothering to reason with me, instead choosing to render me immobile. I can't move as my screams are silenced and I stare in panic.

He's turned away from me, hiding her tiny body from view, and all I want to do is yell and strike out at him and make him give her back to me.

I can't let myself think about this, can't bring myself to imagine the horror that's happened. My baby. She's blistered, burned…her thin flesh and bright curls, and her blood-curdling screams.

And then the screams stop and she's only whimpering.

I can hear Gabriel's voice, low and soothing and distant.

"Shhh…Danielle. It's okay sweetheart. It's okay. Calm down, baby." The reassurance sounds so strange on his lips, and so futile to my ears. I try to sob, but it doesn't reach my lips. He's frozen me completely.

Now all I can hear is his voice and her short, gasping whimpers as she clings to him. Her arms reach around his neck, light pink and perfect.

My eyes want to widen, but that too is impossible.

He turns, his eyes flashing anger unlike anything I've ever seen before. He looks…murderous. And all that rage, that awful intent, is focused on me.

I deserve it. How could I have been so stupid, so idiotic? My baby. My poor, precious baby. I can't let myself look at her.

His gaze softens infinitesimally and then lowers, lashes dark against his cheek, his low voice still murmuring to our daughter.

I force myself to look, to see Dani. Her hair is wet, clinging in sopping curls to her face, her little naked body pressed as close as possible to Gabriel.

And her skin…it's perfect and pale beneath the tiny rivulets of water trailing from her hair down her back.

As my eyes finally widen and my heart races, Gabriel meets my eyes, his hand patting Dani's shaking back as he continues to calm her.

And then it becomes clear, all of it.

He brought me a baby, a flawless little girl with blonde hair and blue eyes. A wonderful daughter who was just like Mommy and Daddy. A perfect child who would never die.

**_If you're enjoying what you've read, please remember to comment. We love to hear from you. It makes our day. _**

**_Mel and Chuck_**


	21. October 2522 2

_The next day…_

Gabriel took Dani to sleep in our bed last night. I cleaned up the water in the kitchen and spent the rest of the dark hours railing at myself silently, cursing my own stupidity, and praying that I might get a chance to make things right. When I wasn't doing that, I wondered when the hell Gabriel had planned on telling me that our daughter was a healer.

He finds me this morning, asleep with my head on the table, tear tracks on my cheeks. His hand caressing my hair wakes me, and I jolt upright.

"She's sleeping," he says in answer to my unspoken question, "and she'll remain that way until I tell her to wake up." With that, he backhands me hard. I turn back to him, tasting blood.

"You stupid fool," he growls. "You have never acted more carelessly, more idiotically, more fucking brainlessly than you did last night."

"I'm sorry," I whisper. I can't begin to find words to tell him how awful, how wretched I feel. "I'm so sorry."

He hits me again, knocking me to the floor. "You don't feel bad enough yet, Claire. I'll help you get there, though."

"Please Gabriel," I sob from the floor, feeling where my teeth have lacerated my lips. "You can hear my thoughts. You know how much I hate myself for this."

"Good. You are a pathetic excuse for a mother. Maybe it's better that our son died. You didn't get the chance to hurt him like you hurt Danielle." His voice is cold, but it sparks a fire of rage in me.

"You… you… you gutless, hateful, fucking _bastard_! God damn you, Sylar, how could you say that?" His words have left me mired down in a swamp of guilt and hate. Hate for him. Hate for myself. He smiles, a chilling expression with no mirth whatsoever.

"Of course I can say that. You've gotten complacent, content with Gabriel. But you can't have one without the other, Claire. And _don't_ distract me from the topic at hand." He moves his hand and I am suddenly gushing blood from the wound he's made in my neck. He speaks as my vocal cords slowly heal with the rest of my throat.

"If Danielle weren't special, she'd be dead now. Do you understand that you could have killed her?"

"But she isn't dead. And when were you going to mention that? How could you keep that from me? What did you do to her?" I scream the last question at him, sobbing as he lashes my skin with his will.

"What did I do? I brought you what you needed, Claire. I gave you the chance to have a happy family, found you a baby who can never be injured, who can live forever with you, and you will _never_ have to watch her die. I didn't make her; I just brought her to someone who could appreciate her unique qualities." He continues before I can open my mouth, "And don't give me that garbage about how you think it's a curse. Danielle will never have to be alone."His voice is bitter. "You didn't, either. Yet you continually isolate yourself and destroy any chance of happiness that I offer you. You are the worst kind of moron."

He takes hours, not making me hurt myself, but showing me that he is the one in charge, the one who wants me to suffer. I'm never going to get the stain of blood out of these boards. I find myself grateful that Dani is asleep. I scream until my throat is raw and bleeding.

It's almost three in the afternoon by the time he finishes with me. I shudder on the floor as he looks down at me. When I gaze up to his face, almost all traces of anger are gone. Today's been cathartic. He's worked off most of his fury.

"If you ever let something like this happen again, I will make you beg for death a hundred times over."

He bends and picks me up. I'm too tired to protest, or even lean away from him. He takes me to the bathroom and makes me shower while he cleans my blood off the kitchen floor. Gabriel—Sylar?—I don't know—returns to the room just as I finish my shower.

"And now," he says quietly, "you can tell your daughter how sorry you are." He smoothes her hair back and she yawns, the princess waking from her enchanted sleep. She sits up and smiles at me.

"Hi Mommy. I help you cook, but I gotta owie." My eyes fill as she frowns, remembering the pain of her 'owies'.

"I'm so sorry baby. I'm sorry." A tear slips down my cheek and Dani reaches out to touch it.

"Don't cry, Mommy. Daddy fix it all better."

**_If you're enjoying what you've read, please remember to comment. We love to hear from you. It makes our day. _**

**_Mel and Chuck_**


	22. October 2522 3

OCTOBER 2522

It's the last day of October. Once upon a time that would have meant ringing doorbells and bags of candy carried by fairy princesses and walking skeletons around America, but not now. Now all it means is a chill setting in and another day to dread the coming winter.

It's been less than a week since Dani's accident, and I've become paranoid. Every bump in the house sends me running to see if she's all right. Of course, she's been with her father, and he would never be so stupid, so goddamned careless as to let anything happen to her.

And still, my mind is reeling at the shock of it all. She can heal. She can regenerate. Just like me. Somewhere inside of me, a weight I hadn't known I was carrying is lifted. I guess Sylar was right again; the prospect of having to watch Dani grow old and die had terrified me. But not anymore. Now all I can see stretching into the future in front of me is life, an inability to die, and an eternity of what I've had to deal with. Only she won't have an enemy. Will she be able to enjoy her life without vengeance? Will she make more of her existence than I have? Will she see this curse as a gift?

I've been spending a lot of time in the kitchen lately. I was right about the bloodstain, it's permanent. I sit here and stare at it, more horrified by the thought of the water that it replaced than by its presence. And honestly, I'd rather spill my blood a thousand times over than ever have to see my baby in pain again, have to see her pale skin burn and blister under scalding water.

Still, the boards will have to go.

I think it's the wrenching crack of the floorboards coming up that brings him to the archway, but maybe he's listening into my thoughts and wanted to make me just a bit more miserable.

"Where's Dani?" I'm out of breath and my arms are straining as splinters cut into the soft flesh of my palms.

"Sleeping, but not for much longer if you keep on making all this noise."

I swear loudly, letting the ruined boards clatter back to the ground and whirling around to face the sink.

"Is that completely necessary?" He crosses his arms, leaning sideways against the wall to stare my way.

I'm shaking. With anger, resentment, fear. I can't be in the same room as him. I've been sleeping on the couch for the last few nights, and he's left me remarkably alone, not forcing the issue of sex. And still, those malicious words keep ringing in my ears.

_You are a pathetic excuse for a mother. Maybe it's better that our son died. You didn't get the chance to hurt him like you hurt Danielle._

He's right. So right. And that's what kills me, the thought that I'm a terrible mother, that I don't deserve my child, and even worse, that it was my stupidity that led to the miscarriage and the death of my son. I shouldn't have spent so much time fighting him. It shouldn't have taken finding out I was pregnant to end my struggling. I should have realized beforehand that I was better off where I was. Happy, even.

What if I hadn't futilely fought Gabriel's control during those first few precious months of pregnancy when we were unaware of the changes in my body? Would my son have lived? Would he have inherited my power, be alive today? Would I have spent the last five centuries trying to murder his father and wasting any chance at happiness I'd ever had?

"You know it doesn't work that way." His voice is low behind me and I feel one of his arms wrap around my waist, his fingers spread across my abdomen as he rests his forehead on my shoulder. His breath is hot against my neck as I shake, hands clenched on the countertop.

"What?" I ask, still trembling. I barely notice the tears coursing down my cheeks as he speaks again.

"The baby. He wouldn't have been like us. Powers don't work like that. And if he had been… well then, he wouldn't have died." The logic is irrefutable. If our baby had been able to heal, my body wouldn't have been able to reject him. It was nature then. Nature and my own stupid pride. I'd killed him. I'd killed him just like I would have killed Dani if she hadn't been special. The guilt is eating at me, making me sick.

I'm shaking as he turns me in the circle of his arms and lets me cry, salty tears soaking the front of his shirt as my arms wrap around his waist and nails dig into his shirt. I can't even think straight. It's been so long since I've done this, since emotion has taken me on this roller coaster and made my body into one big mass of nerves and tears.

"I just… I don't…" I'm gasping for breath and trying to talk through the sobs that wrack my body. I can feel panic clenching me in its fists and my head is spinning. "I don't know how… I could have let this… happen… all of it. Dani. Peter. It's all… my fault. I can't… I can't… I can't breathe." And I can't. My chest is heaving and my eyes are overflowing with tears as I collapse against him and he lowers me to the ground, pulling me onto his lap and holding me like a child as he murmurs into my hair, unintelligible words in the same soothing voice he used on Dani.

"Gabriel!" I try to inhale, forcing my lungs to take in air, "It's all… my fault! I don't know why…. why I fuck everything up!" I'm starting to hiccup between gasping sobs and he's brushing my hair out of my face, rubbing my back, letting me cry and curl up in his arms.

"Shhh…" he comforts. And now I let my fists fly, pummeling his chest and crying as he settles above the ruined kitchen floor and lets me go wild, taking everything I have to give and more.

**_If you're enjoying what you've read, please remember to comment. We love to hear from you. It makes our day. _**

**_Mel and Chuck_**


	23. December 2522

DECEMBER 2522

I wake up from my nightmare, sitting straight up in bed, my hand curled around the knife my subconscious expects to be there. My eyes adjust to the darkness as heart rate slows gradually. I cover my mouth with a hand in an attempt to quiet my breathing.

I had a dream about my family. It was the first one I've had in a long time. When it first happened, I had nightmares all the time. They weren't always the same, but this one occurred most often.

That night….I'd woken to hear Mr. Muggles yelping in pain. Before I could put on a bathrobe, I felt my legs carrying me downstairs. My parents and Lyle were already seated on the couch, bound by Sylar's will. My mother screamed and sobbed as he wrung her dog's neck. His face twitched with irritation and he snapped her mouth shut.

My brother was forced to stand up and walk over to Sylar. His lips trembled as he faced the monster. My little brother was so afraid, but he looked Sylar in the face.

"Brave boy," Sylar said, "or at least for now." He held out a knife and a tear slipped down Lyle's face as he took it. My brother drew the knife in one quick movement across his carotid artery. His blood sprayed his killer's clothes, and his body collapsed to the floor. My father growled, a noise of frustrated impotence and anguish.

Sylar stepped over my brother's body and sat beside my mother. He put his arm around her shoulder in a comforting and conspiratorial manner as he leaned to speak quietly in her ear.

"Poor Sandra. Dead dog. Dead son. Wonder which one you miss the most." He chuckled dryly.

"Noah's protected you for so long now. You were too gentle, too sweet, too naïve to be exposed to this depravity. Now I'm going to kill you, and you won't need to be protected anymore. I'll even make it relatively painless."

His hand moved up to her throat and closed down on her windpipe. When he had finished strangling her, her tears were still fresh on her cheeks. Her expression, far from peaceful, held more sorrow than I had ever seen.

Sylar turned to me then, as if he hadn't noticed me before.

"Claire, I hope you'll forgive me. I haven't forgotten you. In fact, I'm going to need your help for this next part." He and my father stood as one and walked over to where I was still frozen. Sylar walked behind me and bent down so he could inhale the scent of my hair and speak to me while watching my father's face.

"You think you've sunk as far down as you can go, don't you Claire-bear?" he murmured behind me. "That this is the worst thing you could possibly endure, being forced to stand and watch me slaughter your innocent family…but you're wrong." He handed me the knife as he spoke. It was still dripping Lyle's blood.

"But I'm feeling generous—enough to let you and Daddy have a tender goodbye." He released our mouths with an arrogant flick of his index finger.

"It's okay, Claire. You're going to make it through this," my dad promised me as I approached him with the knife in my hand.

"I love you baby."

With that, my hand whipped out and slashed my father across the chest. He cried out and I sobbed as I was forced to kill the man who had been my childhood hero. I was covered in his blood by the time he was dead.

Sylar watched me as I cried on the floor. "You see, Claire, things can always get worse. I'm going to break you, and I'll watch you try to pick yourself up. I'll show you kindness, too, and at the end of it all…I'm going to be the only person who matters to you anymore. We have forever for you to forgive me."

He pulled my strings and had me wrench the knife from my father's body. He sat on the couch and studied me for a moment.

"Let's have some fun."

That's the point where I always woke up. I never dreamt about what he did to me afterwards, when I learned just how much he enjoyed watching me abuse my body.

"Claire?"

I look over and see Gabriel propped up on one elbow.

"What's wrong?" he asks, his voice telling me he knew everything in my head.

I take another breath and lie down next to him.

"Nothing, Gabriel. Just a bad dream."

**_If you're enjoying what you've read, please remember to comment. We love to hear from you. It makes our day. _**

**_Mel and Chuck_**


	24. March 2525

MARCH 2525

Gabriel opens the door, and I can see he is covered in blood.

"Shoes!" I warn him as I stand up. I'd like to avoid bloodstains on the carpet, if it's at all possible. He rolls his eyes and pulls off his shoes one at a time. There's even blood in the creases of his palms and under his fingernails.

Dani is sitting on the living room floor playing with her toys, but she looks up and smiles when Gabriel enters the room.

"Hi Daddy!" She waves her little fingers at him in greeting. She is completely unfazed by his red hands and the spatters across his face. It's not the first time he's come home this way; like most areas in life, Dani has adjusted to it with surprising grace. For a four-year-old, she's pretty easygoing.

"Hello Danielle," he says with a quick smile as he hands me his shoes.

"Is it yours?" I ask him evenly. He shakes his head.

"Is it something I need to know about?" He gives me a snide smile in answer.

"It's not something I need to tell you right now," he replies carelessly, "Put those shoes in the sink, please. I'll take care of them later."

I do as he tells me, reading the lines of tension in his body. I return to find him kissing Dani's hair, careful not to get any blood on her.

"Mommy and Daddy are going to be in their room for a little while," he tells our daughter. Her attention has returned to her toys. "Stay here unless it's very important." His instructions seem a little advanced—how is a toddler supposed to know what constitutes an emergency?—but Dani's fairly precocious. She's pretty used to this part, too.

He grabs my arm and pulls me into the bedroom. His movements are deliberate and fast as he lifts me off my feet, crushing me to his body and assaulting me with hard kisses. I can't breathe, between the intensity of his mouth on mine and the increasing pressure on my ribs. I struggle to pull away for a moment, and he tosses me onto the bed.

He stares down at me before pulling his shirt over his head. Two swift hand movements cut my jeans up the sides and I am suddenly crouched on the bed in my panties. He wrestles me to my back and rips open my tee-shirt.

"Damn it, Gabriel. You're going to ruin all my clothing," I complain as I am divested of my underwear. He looks up at my face, mild irritation flashing across his features.

"Don't be ridiculous. It's just one outfit," he growls as he plunges into me. He is merciless, grabbing me with electric hands and making me gasp with pain. He screws me relentlessly until he comes, hard, shuddering on top of me. We lie there until he disappears into the shower. I sit up and look at the bathroom door.

What happened to him today?

**_If you're enjoying what you've read, please remember to comment. We love to hear from you. It makes our day. _**

**_Mel and Chuck_**


	25. May 2525

MAY 2525

There is no public education system in today's world, hardly a surprise as literacy went out the window along with books long ago. People tend to use pictures a lot as a result, its very Margaret Attwood. As a result, Dani's education has been left completely to Gabriel and I. So far, she's learned her numbers through one hundred, mastered the ABC's, and learned to read words with two syllables or less. We're very proud.

Of course, Dani's mastery of the English language doesn't mean so much in today's world, so we teach her the local language too. It's what we've taken to using at home lately, and she's begun speaking it beautifully. Neither of us are surprised. Our daughter is an intelligent child.

So as Dani and I walk through the market, she greets everyone who passes within ten feet of her. Her voice is high and clear, angelic. Normally somber men and women can't help but smile at her even as the orphan catchers scowl and their hands itch towards metal studded nightsticks. There are no other children in sight, a swaddled and crying bundle strapped across the chest of a a thin asian woman the sole exception.

This is not a world for children. The advent of the outer city orphanages was viewed as a blessing at the time of its inception, but as more and more children who aren't orphans go missing, people grow worried. It has become a city of adults as the lucky children are locked safely indoors and kept out of the overzealous gaze of the angry guards who patrol the city looking for "unsupervised and unwanted population surplus."

I'm unsurprised when one such child stealer approaches me. He's tall and ugly, skin black as pitch against the white of his teeth and eyes. He's holding his nightstick in one hand, his other caresses the length of rope at his opposite hip. I've seen someone like him use that rope before. The child whose neck it had surrounded had tripped over its own feet and been strangled to death as the guard had kept walking, dragging the little corpse behind him until he had reached the city limits.

"Is this thing bothering you?" he asks. The sneer on his face as he looks down at my daughter sends a chill down my spine.

"Of course not." I snap abruptly. The guards face twists in fury as his hand grows tight around the stick in his hands. I can see the vein in his neck pulsing and his jaw clench. My own free hand finds its way to the dagger in my belt. I grab the hilt lightly.

"Hello! We're gonna get apples!" Dani's voice pipes loud and bright beside me as she looks up at the man who obviously seems to want her dead. He glares down at her, lips curling unpleasantly until a shadow seems to fall over him. He flinches and takes a step back, eyes widening in fear.

I can feel Sylar at my back, can almost picture the angle at which his head sits, inquisitive and menacing as he studies the dark skinned man coldly. Since Dani has become more verbose, her father has insisted on accompanying us in public. He knows that when children attract attention it can get them in trouble, but he, like myself, doesn't believe that she should be locked up day and night. We're both strong enough to protect her from the society she's been born into, and we've decided to afford her as much freedom as is prudent under the circumstances. That means that while Dani and I grocery shop, he looks at whatever interests him nearby.

"Y- y- you!" The guard has started started stuttering and I can see right away that he's met my husband before. I'm not sure whether to be glad or pity the fool.

"Me." Sylar reaches down with one hand to ruffle Dani's hair. Bright and blonde, it brushes the middle of her back now. I can only imagine how long it would be were her curls straightened. "I see you haven't learned your lesson." He sounds more curious than frightening, but I can feel the power, the sheer menace he exudes.

"I- I didn't come after you! I didn't even know it was-" His words are cut off as his mouth snaps shut. I can sense the strings or control extending from behind me to where the man stands.

"Now what was it I promised you again... Oh yes. You were the one I was going to make linger for days before I ended it." The man whimpers, eyes squeezing shut against what I can only imagine is a flood of tears. Dani tilts her head to the side at the sight before taking a few deliberate steps forward, pulling my hand out until she stands directly before the man. I can feel the heavy grip of Gabriel's hand against my arm as he readies himself to pull us both back and behind him.

"It's okay," she says solemnly. Her tiny hand reaches out to pat the mans shaking knee. She has to strain onto her tiptoes and lean as far away from me as possible to reach. "Daddy's nice if you're nice to him," she looks back at Sylar, her eyebrows knitting together like his sometimes do, "Right Daddy?"

I glance back sharply. The look on his face is impossible to read, but the violence bubbling there beneath the surface is unmistakable. Dani has never really been exposed to this side of her father. Sylar is very much my demon, he's careful to be Gabriel around our daughter. Still, she has caught glimpses every now and then of what her father can become. Sharp glances thrown in my direction, bloodied clothes, moans and shrieks sometimes coming from our bedroom... its enough to have made her somewhat aware of the potential behind Daddy's normal demeanor. Not that she realizes it, and I want very much to keep it that way.

Still, there's something disturbing about the way she qualifies her father's compassion.

"That's right, Danielle." He looks down at his daughter, a brilliant smile lighting up his dark features and making my heart beat faster. He looks back up at the man and grins. "If they're nice to me."

Sylar loosens his control on the guard who collapses promptly to the ground in a heap. I grip Dani's hand harder and pull her back to stand against my legs.

"Run." he says, voice soft and full of laughter. The man scrambles to his feet and suddenly he's gone, only rapidly retreating shadows where he stood. "Interesting." Sylar breaths, his arm creeping around my waist and his lips dropping a light kiss on my neck before he leans down to pick Dani up, tossing her carefully onto his shoulders as she waves and calls out a childish "Bye-bye!" the to disappearing shadows.

My head tilts back as I watch her giggle. The light is captured in her hair and Daddy looks like a storm cloud beneath the brilliance of the sun. I smile and use an arm over Sylar's shoulder to pull myself up and drop a kiss on his enticing lips. He grins beneath my mouth.

We finish our shopping together before making our way back to the house. Once the doors are locked and Dani's down for her nap, Sylar leaves. I wish him a good hunt, secretly satisfied that the man who wished my daughter ill will shortly be screaming in agony.

It's been a good day.

**_If you're enjoying what you've read, please remember to comment. We love to hear from you. It makes our day. _**

**_Mel and Chuck_**


	26. May 2525 2

_The Next Morning_

His breath is warm against the bare skin of my shoulder, his arm heavy across my ribcage. He's sleeping, legs entwined with mine. I've been awake for several minutes now, but I can't bring myself to wake him. He's beautiful like this... peaceful. His dark lashes rest on high cheekbones. His features are clear, unreserved. He's not hiding anything, he's not planning anything. He's just him. Gabriel.

I can't keep myself from smiling.

I raise my free arm, let my fingers run through his dark hair as I shift to mold my body to his. We're both bare, so skin presses against skin as I kiss him. He sighs and rolls, arms wrapping around my waist to take me with him as he rolls completely onto his back.

"Good morning." His voice is husky, his hands wander across my back, fingetips exploring the peaks and valleys he finds and making me moan.

"Morning." I sigh, nuzzling his throat and letting my tongue dart out to touch skin. There's a strange taste there, must and copper. I let my eyes flutter open. "You didn't shower last night." Its an observation, and as I catch sight of the dried blood flaking across my sheets and the pink tinge above the line where his clothes must have been.

"Mmm. I was very tired. I washed my face though." I make a noncommittal noise in response and resume kissing him. His mouth is delightful. Once I've had my fill I pull away, resting my cheek against his and just breathing. He lets me.

"Who was he?" I ask, the bloody tinge on Gabriel's throat still evident.

"A walking corpse." I arch an eyebrow and move to roll off of him, but effortlessly powerful arms keep me in place as he chuckles.

"You're so impatient, Claire," he mutters, taking my mouth with his again before breaking the kiss and sighing. "He was one of the guards at Dani's orphanage." he says softly. My heart beat accelerates in my chest.

"Orphanage..." I think of the awful camps with their plumes of smoke. Had my baby been there? "I thought you said you took her from..." I can't finish the sentence. I just can't.

"I never said that." Gabriel's voice is gentle, patient. "I told you they were dead." A weight I hadn't known existed is lifted from my chest at the words.

"Then they were already gone when you found her." I look up at him, chin against his collarbone. He nods, almost imperceptibly.

I smile. I can't help it.

"Thank you." I say the words softly, sliding up his body so I can look down at him face to face. His eyes are closed again, a tiny smile turning the corners of his lips up.

"Thank you." I say again, one hadn't trailing down from his chest to wrap around more sensitive parts of him. His breath hitches.

"If I'd have known you'd be this appreciative I would have told you when I first brought her." I smile against his morning stubble and continue my ministrations, caressing and brushing my fingers softly against the places I know drive him crazy. His expression goes tense and focused very quickly.

"Hmm." My tone is speculative as I inch down his body, letting soft kisses fall against bronzed flesh as I go.

"What?" his voice is going hoarse again as my mouth gets closer and closer to my hand.

"I was just wondering how long you can last... if you concentrate." His eyes fly open and he stares down at me. My cheek is resting against his thigh and I'm smiling languorously, my hand still working busily.

"Why Mrs. Gray, I do believe you're toying with me." He doesn't seem at all angry about it. In fact, as my lips encase him, the look of pure ecstasy on his face convinces me that he's been wanting, craving this.

"Are you complaining?" I whisper against saturated flesh. He shakes his head, apparently speechless. Something inside of me cheers at the victory. I had never thought to see him like this, devoid of words and commands beneath me.

And as I continue, loving him with my mouth as he begins to quiver, as his legs tense and his hands in my hair tighten, something inside of me spirals out of control. I can't quite place it, this feeling. Gratefulness, pleasure, happiness, contentment, desire... All of it melted down into one intoxicating feeling.

Gabriel's gaze glitters down at me, something tender in his eyes that I've scarcely seen before. And he looks like he knows, knows what I'm feeling. But he lets me continue, staying quiet but for soft sighs and moans. He knows, and for once I thank God that he's just taking the knowledge and keeping it rather than using it.

I lose myself in the pleasure, pushing the thoughts away and pleasing him. Pleasing me.

**_If you're enjoying what you've read, please remember to comment. We love to hear from you. It makes our day. Also... this is the second to last installment of the first volume. You have been warned. _**

**_Mel and Chuck_**


	27. June 2525

JUNE 2525

"I don't want to!" Dani shouts. I told her we couldn't go for a walk until she picked up her toys. That was thirty minutes ago, and she's still having the same temper tantrum.

She's been like this for the past couple weeks, as though her terrible two's were delayed a couple years. I feel like we can't get anything done without a fight anymore. I'm still trying to convince her to just put her damn toys away when her father walks in the door. He closes it behind him and heads to the kitchen as I continue my battle with Dani. He reappears several minutes later with a mildly irritated expression.

"Danielle, pick up your things or I will make you do so." His voice makes it clear that he is not in a good mood. Dani does as he tells her, pouting but obedient. "Now go sit on my bed. Just because Mommy is incapable of making you obey her doesn't give you the power to do as you please." He is speaking to her, but his meaning is meant for my ears, not hers.

I shut the door behind Dani and turn to glare at him.

"I don't need your help disciplining our daughter, thank you very much. I was doing fine on my own, and I don't want you undermining my authority," I tell him frostily. His brow furrows as he leans against the wall.

"You've been having problems controlling her recently, and it's wearing on me. Learn to deal with her, or get used to having your 'authority' subverted," Gabriel says. He muses for a moment. "You aren't exactly the model of perfect parenting."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Your track record is far from spotless, and letting her act out this way is only teaching her to ignore your wishes," he cocks an eyebrow, "I'm assuming that's not your intention?"

I tense at his words. "Excuse me, but you're not exactly a faultless dad, either. I spend all day with Dani, every day, while you go out and do God only knows what. If your idea of discipline is scaring my little girl into submission, then I don't like it. You have no right to call me a bad mother."

"_Your_ little girl?" His other eyebrow joins the raised one in an expression of disbelief. "Are you forgetting again, Claire?" His hand shoots out and my body is pulled across the room to stand in front of him. "I am the one who found her, pulled her out of the orphanage, and brought her to you so you could play mommy. You owe her _life_ to me," he says in a low angry voice.

"So that's what I've been doing for the last four years? 'Playing mommy?' You are the only person on the planet who could come up with such a crazy idea. I'm not you, I don't have this sick need to twist things around into perverted games to amuse myself. Do you have any idea of what I do for Danielle? What I _would_ do for her?" I am furious with him. He can't tell me that I'm screwing my daughter up when I'm doing the best I can, and I am _not_ a bad mother.

"And what can you do for her, Claire? You're rather limited, overall." I am locked in place as his hand caresses my throat, pressing lightly. He steps closer and I can smell him as he restricts my airway just enough to make breathing difficult. "You're defenseless. Soft. Pathetic."

My mind is filled with such rage that for a moment I almost feel as though I could break the bonds of his control on my body to punch him in the face. He snickers as I find that I am not, in fact, that strong.

"See? You're full of a lot of talk, but there are promises that you ultimately can't keep," he murmurs before stepping back. He relinquishes hold of my neck, but keeps most of my body in check.

"I am not weak, Sylar!" I spit at him, deliberately using that name. Gabriel—my husband—wouldn't say these things to me. This is the voice of the monster that haunted my nightmares for so many years.

He smiles to see my anger, though.

"Are you not? Shall we take a look through the past and see if you have shown yourself to be strong enough to take care of yourself, let alone a child?"

"Let's start with the most recent episode of foolishness. You left a toddler alone in the kitchen with a pot of boiling water. Upon finding her injured, you frightened her further by panicking like an inexperienced babysitter. But we'll rewind a little faster. In the past several hundred years, you have engaged in unsafe and casual sex more than once as a means of begging for attention. After you miscarried, you attempted to kill yourself. You deliberately anger a dangerous serial killer, because you are a masochist and have an unhealthy addiction to pain. You lie frequently, even to yourself. All of this evidence suggests that you are mentally unstable and quite possibly insane." He finally stops and I am actually speechless for a moment.

"You…I have made it just fine on my own for hundreds of years. I am not helpless," is the only reply I can come up with.

"No?" Sylar asks. "For hundreds of years, I have been watching over you, protecting you, and providing you with the things you need and can't get for yourself. How hard is it to survive when I've practically spoon-fed you? I've given you so much that you can't even remember how to fend for yourself. What happened to the snotty, self-important, morally righteous teenager? Do you even remember the defiant little cheerleader from our ancient history?" This argument is no longer about Dani; I am under personal attack and we both know it.

"Fuck you, Sylar. I know damn well who I am," I spit at him, wishing with all my heart that I were not still frozen.

"Ah, but I'm not finished," he says in a mocking tone. His voice grows harder as he speaks. "That girl told me that she would kill me, but look where you ended up instead. Married, in the arms of a killer who made you slice up your own father; fucking your family's murderer every night. You've gone soft, Claire-bear."

His control loosens on me as he delivers this final blow. Everything inside me twists and burns and I scream, a primal guttural cry that tears from my throat. My knife is in my hand before I even think and I bury it in the left side of his chest, right where I imagine his heart to be. I am stunned and confused as he sinks to his knees. I fall with him to the ground and I swear I can hear "I love you" from his lips in the millisecond before his eyes shut.

I must be wrong. He couldn't have said that. Not after what just happened.

What _did_ just happen? Why is he not getting up? It takes me a long moment to realize the obvious: I found the spot. I finally stabbed him in his Achilles' heel.

I hear a creak behind me and turn, wild-eyed. It's Dani, forgotten but still in our bedroom.

"Mommy? Can I come out now? I'm sorry, and we can go on our walk." My heart freezes as I remember her tantrum from what seems like forever ago. It takes me a second to clear my throat so I can answer her, and she doesn't wait for my reply before asking another question: "Why is Daddy on the floor?"

"Sweetie? I need you to go back to my room for a little bit. Daddy's not feeling good right now, and Mommy's going to be here with him. I'll come get you in a few minutes." Dani nods and heads back to our room, closing the door behind her.

I turn back to my dead husband. I can't believe I killed him. The odds were astronomical. I think back to his last seconds. He made no attempt to ward off my attack, had set me loose in the first place…maybe the odds weren't stacked as high as I thought. Maybe...maybe he let me kill him.

That was just stupid. Of all times to let me actually end him, why now, after he'd done everything in his power to infuriate me? Unless he didn't believe that I was really a bad mother…did he really say he loved me?

_I've given you so much that you can't even remember how to fend for yourself. That girl told me that she would kill me, but look where you ended up instead. You've gone soft._

He's wrong.

I am not a broken woman. I can take care of myself and my daughter, and I'll do whatever I have to if it will keep us safe.

**END VOLUME ONE**

**_And so we reach the end of this volume. Please let us know whether you'd like us to post the next volume (which is completed, and from a different persons point of view). You can do that by clicking on the comment button and leaving us your thoughts/questions/ideas/pleas. We've love hearing from you and hope to continue doing so. Hope you've enjoyed Claire and her Interesting Hobby. _**

**_Mel and Chuck_**


	28. AN

A/N:

Hello! Just wanted to remind you that part two of this story is now being posted under the name "Beyond Satisfaction."

Love,

Mel and Chuck


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